Who Killed The Romantics?

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why don’t you dream like you used to?

William Klein

Romantics are dead in this world

And if they are not dead yet

They are surely dying

Coughing up blood on a typewriter

Scraping pennies for a hit

And wishing the razor could reach the right heart-string

Romantics are now dressed in all black

With feathers in their hair and big top hats

Garbed with a fuck-you face because

They do hate you all

You are the monsters in their closets and

In the books under their beds

If the sun rises again tomorrow

And you still bear the burden of breath

You’ll be met with white eyes

Because you, with your pragmatism and hateful taste –

Have killed the romantics in this world.

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