As our generation passes
 From summer into fall,
As our tragedies — and farces —
 Lose their power to appal;

As the glory of our raving
 Is dimmed behind a door,
As what we thought worth saving
 Becomes a bloody bore;

As the few became a crowd,
 And the irony a mask,
As the joke is told too loud
 By those who have to ask;

As our dramas shrink to farces
 And our vanities decay,
So our generation passes
 From riot to cliché.