Grunge is Dead

Crumpled newspapers and stinky trashcans,
Secluded towns and street corners unaware,
Struggling to cross over the area and their minds,
And figuring out how to get out of this labyrinth of life.

For cornered by the winds and the crowd were they.
Narrated stories of the distant sky and rays,
Twisted shadows of the dark past haunted them,
Progressive creatures in a regressive society were they.

Belongingness and bondage never held a difference,
Marks shone on their bodies like jewels on a celebrated throne.
Frisked in futility and wilted up in a void,
Sarcasm became the way of life and irony their sustenance.

Songs of wisdom with words of fury came out of their mouths,
We said they were godmen, in an inexplicably obvious way,
We followed them with wagging tails and wishful eyes,
The crown of thorns was placed, the creep committed.

The transition was almost surreal,
For they lived in a trance now, a parallel world,
Producing the essence for a thousand wasted lives like theirs
And that very essence the world owes to them.

Blinded by the million lights we shone at them,
 They screeched, they begged,
We never heard, we never saw; we connived, we committed,
For innocent creatures in a corrupt media were they.
                                                                                                                                                                         
And now they are gone like a lullaby suddenly interrupted,
For they chose to ‘burn out than to fade away.’