They call us NEETs, they really do,
Kick us off the street, they really do,
They say we’re lazy, really do,
Say we’re crazy, so they do,
And if we are (the things they say)
It’s only Them should take the blame,
Only Them should feel ashamed,
‘cos what we’re really called is ‘waste’.
A waste of lives, that’s what we are,
Just wasted minds, that’s all we are,
So here we are, and ain’t it great,
We are, we are, we are, THE WASTE.
A waste of what, so you should ask,
The waste from Them, so we reply,
The excrement of Their old ways,
‘cos they don’t care ’bout what we say.
So carry on, just like before,
Don’t give us jobs, show us the door.
You only see a waste of space,
‘cos we are, we are, we are THE WASTE.
I do not, habitually, write political poems, and this should not be taken as a political testament. But I am young, and know many young people, and work and live with many who feel this way. They normally say it more eloquently, less percussively – but this poem, I think, says something relevant to how they feel. It’s a clear break from the previous long-poem Tuesday fare. It is also the only time I’ve written something, re-read it, and thought ‘This could really work as a punk song’.
I hope that you enjoy it.
The Hapless Neo-Romantic