I’ve been through the desert on a horse with a name,
The raven himself croaks the entrance
Of any and all who dare step upon
The toes of the rich and famous.
The old man sat under the awning
The traffic beeps, shouting good morning
He turns his hearing aid down a notch
As an old Dylan song blasts the morning chill.
A mother dresses her son, his lunch ready
His homework bulging in his backpack
Her thoughts a thousand miles away
To a man who promised love for servitude.
The man in the newspaper shop is crying
Its all too much he wails as he sinks to the floor
The music has died, the songs gone to crap
Where have all those flowers gone.
A whole generation pissing in the wind
Others settled in strawberry field, forgot up from down
The lost and lonely found solace in smoking their end
And humpty dumpty was Mary’s love child.
In the end he asks does it matter
Where we come from, where we go
We repeat the sins of the past with gay abandon
We are the product of the puppet kings.