We borrow from tomorrow,
To pay our bills today.
We pile up future sorrows,
And then go out and play.
We gift our flailing children,
Our debt and fond decay;
And yet we barely listen,
To a single thing they say!
They are the ungrateful wretches,
Our parents said we were.
Their heads are full of pictures,
And dreams of wealth absurd.
Are they our goth projections,
That spook, stampede the herd;
The nihilist gene free radicals,
Of our venal fears, transferred?
We are the 'baby boomers'!
Now aging, graying, bald.
You've heard the nasty rumors,
'Neath those national flags unfurled.
We are the 'baby boomers'!
At least that's what we're called;
In our sink of fetid tumors,
Don't 'we' control the world?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem