The Lost Boys The lost boys are stuck at tender of the heart age of twenty-two The modern day satire reincarnation of the pre-Rapchalite brothers Who have immortalised their beings at twenty too Reference themselves without the needed dripping irony, blaming their mistakes on their mothers As if Wendy herself wasn’t as well a lost girl Idolised like a shell’s mother-of-pearl The lost boys fuck and fight at the same time “It’s more poetic that way”, they say as they search up their rhymes You won’t see them in the day, they only come out at the midnight bell chimes Coming out with their cliched words, speaking recycled thoughts of, “where have you been all my life?” As if you haven’t been standing right here Watching fuck and fight themselves, being awfully quite queer The lost boys live and breath in their romanticised hedonism Debated philosophical arguments revolving around the firmness of Wendy’s tits Saying aye or nay as you please, let’s cause a schism “But I love...