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The generational gap is a snare
And the price that we pay is steep.
With no free minutes to spare,
Our cell-phones sing us to sleep.

Our guardians stayed in the past –
We’re alone. We demand an apology!
With no one to look after us,
We are raised by technology.

We follow the latest trends,
And create our friends in our likeness
In our virtual world of pretense.
We worship our desktop icons.

We scream at the deep blue square,
But no one inside it is listening.
We sit, transfixed by the glare
Of a thousand pixels glistening.

We are social butterflies bound
By the world-wide-web of distress, -
No, we aren’t “laughing out loud,”
This is our S-O-S.