New Kind Of Old

(more of my 'teenage-years' prose)

Turn the TV down It spews that shit We neglect to notice Sounds just like us

And the girl next door Figured it out Be good, be careful You'll get by
Won't take long Forty-odd years She'll then know My life passed me by

That's what I call A new kind of old A new kind of ancient A new kind of me

Those raging clubbers Lycra-clad In corsets, in tights Well they're no better
Ladies and gents They're just as lost Just another kind Of new kind of old

Smug as you are Charm you may sell But the world will forget you So long! And farewell

The TV's still loud The girl next door Still good and wary The clubbers are bored

And I can't say That I don't share Their combined sense of "lost" Their new kind of old