Inside a coffee den in Asheville City
one can find a wide-range of the cultural committee:
On the ripped leather of barstools they sit
each talking to another, in their nonconformity, they fit
men in skin tight denim jeans
with ruffled hair and ruffled tees
checkered flannel shirts and lenseless glasses
each holding their coffee cups up and down the aisle they make their passes
their mantra is rejecting what society says is the status quo
they get lost in the caffeine, nicotine, and alcohol that flow
with red eyes and gauged ears
the mix it up between coffee and beer
sitting at a table well into the night
they maintain that their way to live is right
But why do we hid behind the facade of underground music
and act like aligning under a name or clique will cause us to lose it?
What are we running from in life to give us this feeling?
What is so bad in the first place that has pushed us to reeling?
Because I too will admit this lifestyle is appealing
The endless nights of mixed drinks and no named girls give us reason for dealing
Do the nameless faces offer a contrast to the faceless Man?
the one who all non-conformists wish to overthrow and supplant
We may not be expatriates in a foreign land
but we are part of a new lost generation, trying to understand