I’m a bohemian and eccentric,
I think psychedelic, I think beatnik.
I rebelliously objected, to conform as expected,
want to go back, “on the road again” with Kerouac.
All that jazz and avant-garde,
the days of the Village Vanguard.
Poets and singers, now they’re but ghosts,
in silent halls, they play host.
Free spirits, long-haired hippies,
Peace and love; flower power,
raining down in a sunshine shower.
Wet with warmth, everything so bright;
Far out-out of sight.
Make love not war, it feels a whole lot better,
feel yourself floating like a feather, feel the pleasure.
In a world of jokers and fools,
there’s always a rebel that breaks the rules.
Ginsberg and Kesey, Watts, and Leary,
the counter-culture; growing restless and weary,
turned on, tuned in and dropped out.
What was it anyway that we were fighting about?
A gap between generations,
the mainstream establishment had their misguided expectations
They never understood the angst and throes,
of those, whose bodies weren’t theirs to casually dispose.
To be free, to flee from this modern-day Babylon,
Changes for a new age; a new dawn.
We want and cling precarious,
for the coming age of Aquarius.