Saturday, September 12, 2009


Make love, not war, a rebel yell
Woodstock, it rose and then it fell
The birthplace of a hope for peace
A search for truth that will not cease
But dreams of youth are fleeting things
Were they not puppets pulled by strings

Where are the children of that hour
With their hippie beads and their flower power
Youthful arms stretched out in quite rage
Aimed at those of a different age
Woodstock, was it all a lie, just another name
Is the word generation not to blame

Woodstock, a generation of the past
The future catches up so fast
Establishment, to be mistrusted, a dirty word
But wait, after all these years, it seems absurd
Look around, who pulls the strings? They now reign
Have you felt the peace and love or just more pain

Have you heard the cry of youth today
Listen close, you may hear them say
Woodstock never really went away, just a name
Generation is the thing to blame, it will always be the same
So act your age, put on that tie and collar
Your turn has come to chase the almighty dollar

By Joy Faulkner

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