Pressed to glass, like fine China,
A face I thought at once I knew,
The wonder years are all behind her,
Ripped apart and birthed anew.
All the cruel in all the world,
Has kissed this face I thought I knew;
Stole the light that lived inside her,
Like naught, that face is now replaced,
With some cyanic, neon hue.
The grave makes way for block foundations,
Of a generation set askew,