They say the gods
Have a sick sense of humor.
That’s not totally untrue.

You wanted to tear
Everything to the ground
And start again
From scratch.

You wanted a revolution
Where total freedom
And sweet anarchy
Would reign.

You wanted to burn
Hot, and bright, and fast,
Like a glorious meteor
Lighting up the sky.

You wanted to die young,
In a spectacular fashion
That would turn you
Into legend.

You wanted to become
A brilliant supernova,
Exploding into white-hot fire.

The gods had other plans.

They kept you safe, healthy and alive,
Despite your hardest efforts.

They gave you a long and peaceful life,
And granted you deep insights.

Then they let the punchline drop,
By waiting for you to get comfy
Before teaching you
How to really be a rebel.

You looked them in the eye
And cursed the fucking bastards
Until you caught the joke,
And burst out laughing.