What lies will you make true, as you did our madness?
We are no sad daughters of your myriad disease
We are no lost children of your new and sightless Age
We are no black sons of your fallen anti-God
You are wrong. Except that we are all so young.
We are baptized in tarry ash and road-dust
We are inheritors of fey laughter and stale tears
We are your ghosts and prophets
We are your dreams and demons
We are your brothers and sisters
We are your children, and were your parents
A long time ago, when they were very young.