I found a picture of my mother. In her bell-bottom jeans.. Flowers in her hair. Two fingers up for peace.. In that Polaroid she smiled. A grown up baby boomer. Maybe momma walked down the wild side. Walking on the moon. What will they say about us?. I've heard stories about my grandpa. child of the great depression. how growing up broke creates and deep and dark impression. He sits in a rocker down at the veterans home. Even when I got to visit he still rocking all alone. What will they say about us. They call us generation lost. Or generation greed. or they connect the generation. to a plasma screen or a generation. or a generation why enough is not enough. Or maybe they'll call us. Generation love. We are children of divorce. Victims of dysfunction. We spell check of coarse. And gps the proper junction. We got it "pretty good". Shifting all the blame. But I think I hear an old song. Calling my new name. Generation love. Not generation lost. Or generation greed. or they connect the generation. to a plasma screen or a generation. or a generation why enough is not enough. Or maybe they'll call us. Generation love. Ohhhh generation love. and when they've become a time capsule. a hundred years from now. Maybe they'll look inside. And see we figured out. how to live and give ourselves away. just maybe they'll call us. Just maybe they'll call us. Generation love