All us children of the Millennial
awaiting an omen,
seeking out the last augury,
weaving among the boomers
who present us with a forgery.
Stay strong, my children!
We are the last missionaries,
the last lost lovers,
are the rarest breed indeed,
above us a genuine gospel hovers.
Stay authentic, my friends!
Set out with unmatched veracity,
imperfection glistens these days but,
we see through the deceiving fog with rectitude,
we refuse to be mislead.
Steer the course, my children!
These maps made for us yield no
sensible shape or design when traced,
we forge our own compass.
Forgetting north south east west,
undulating inwards with a steady pace.
Be proud, my children!
We have sailed successfully into the millennium,
leaving in our wake the outdated value systems of the past.
We are the strong. We are the brave
We are the lovers. The last of our kind
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