I see the vacant faces of our generation,

pass by, enraptured by passion

that consumed our imagination

and held us, souls aghast.

I have walked down these narrow halls,

and wondered how many of us know of the fall

wondered how many of us have built walls

around our glass hearts to hold our emotion close.

How many of you bear red lips,

red skin, red cheeks, red wrists,

red knuckles, red eyes, red hips?

has your story been read yet?

There are stories behind your grin

I can see it in the way you sheild your skin

from the outward tormoil and commotion

has anyone told you the light still exists?

We are a red generation,

a bright and bleeding nation

passion released in clouds of crimsom

our fire is red like bruises and words unspoken

I wander these halls unnoticed and can't help but ponder

what red means to you, if it sneaks in the cracks, somber;

has he red has left you toughened and stronger.

or have you allowed it to make hope into a distant stranger?