Commiserate a bygone era

oh it hurts oh it burns
to think of the world gone by
the lives our fathers and mothers led
all gone up in ash and smoke
gone gone gone forever and away

little thoughts and big dreams
big hair and funny shoes that gleam
thinking of the loss
it almost makes me scream

poppy choppy hoppy jive
technofunky colours
in a world in a twirl
what a place what a place
to make my heart so race

in the days gone by
dear dad dear mom
did you ever feel this way
about the times before your day?

what of us, of us young folk
who now have to carry the yoke
sooner or later our youth, our lives, will choke
oh the notion of it, it makes my heart so broke

so here we are, brief sparks
best we embrace every opportunity that harks
make of it the best we can
by hook, crook or even by plan

oh sigh
oh sigh
the end seems ever nigh
sooner or later the bubble will pop
and our era will abrubruptly stop

usurped, upturned by a new kind of pop
made away made to be gay by a new kind of 'Hey!'

-Stark Botha