I forgot my name the other day
I was sure I was someone else
Because my face was
Creased with age
And my voice
Quite raspy
Perhaps it was because
I stole a tree from
A farm down the road
Though everyone is
Stealing everyone else’s trees
Tree stealers have no face
They think they do
Because of the fruit
From thy tree but
Most trees be rotten
Decaying apples
Rotten grapes and
Squished oranges
They are the source
Of
My Generation.
