The Least Generation (An Ode To)

Through the mire and muck marched we,
Born of a War Cold,
In the fertile Swamp of Hippiedom did we grow,
Toiling serf-like
(at the lunch counter)
   (in the cubicle)
      (with electronic punch cards, (then MS Office))
 (with software to pennies account'ed)
Through the Malls of Shoppe'd,
In Jams of Traffic we sat,
Upon asses flabby such made--
 patiently,
                                          (biding the hours)
 (listening to Top 40 radio)
 (or the Stern of Howard)
 (or the Zoo of Morning)
 (or the radio of Public National)
 (or the Zeppelin of Led)
 (or...well you get the joke by now I'm sure)

For wars upon the Tigres-Euphrates doth we voted,
Yea, and useless but expensive weapons system we were sold,
All the while flying upon the wings of the Steve Miller Band,
(Perhance to hear Frankie of Hollywood did we)
Yea, and now we stand together as one (or more like fifty-one out of one hundred but you get the picture)
Crying "We shall not change!"
Not a single drop of oil will we save,
Nor coal unburnt,
Nor forest uncut,
Nor solar panel be purchased,
For this is Our Destiny,
To devour everything in sight like a plague of locusts,
This unbrave,
This timid,
This fearful,
This paradoxically proud of itself for some damn reason,
This Least Generation.
(finally got there)