1969 - Poem by Smoky Hoss
it's late...it's 1969...
the sun's going down
as we turn west
driving a long black Caddy,
rolling along the boulevard of freedom at 30 cents a gallon
-step on the gas!
and just enjoy the ride
in this cool dark lady;
somewhere, way over 'there'
young men are dying
and they don't know why,
while back here we're feverishly trying
to spend the last of our freedom
before our innocence says goodbye,
the end of a decade
the last free age
free-thinkers, and Jesus freaks
-all original american prophets
hanging on just outside of the cage;
while around the globe
it's all going down with that western sun
we'll keep riding in that Caddy...our last free ride,
long hair blowing in the wind
not realizing: it'll never be this way again...
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