Are they afraid of us, I wonder. This generation has lost is way. At night we wander in the streets without any sense of understanding. If they'd let us, we'd probably burn this city down to the last piece of asphalt and steel.

Sometimes we dream of trees growing in the place of skyscrapers, sometimes we fantasize of innocence. Our age no longer justifies our desire to destroy; we've grown, without being granted even an illusion of wisdom and inner peace.

Now we've stored our adolescent souls in formaldehyde, now we've vowed never to speak of maturity, now we've blocked out all false hopes of certainty and order. Every morning we wake up with the taste of rotting expectations on our lips.

If the world ends tomorrow, at least we won't have the time to become losers, a friend said long ago. Too young to die, too old to begin anew. They told us we shall fly, then they clipped our wings ; they told us we were free, before they tightened the chains.