Hear the songs, how they sound like the ones you played back in 1968.
I've seen it in the pictures, the flowers, the parades,
the hope you held, the mess you made.
You sigh and say "in my day" as if your days are done.
Well, you're still here – but something is gone.
Once you were fierce and fought for the world.
Where you once kept compassion, you now keep your pearls.
With your eyes tightly shut its easier to cope
with newsfeeds like dark, twisted kaleidoscopes.
But more than ever we need someone who can teach us to hope.
You surely remember the fire in your chest?
The yearning for change and the longing to protest?
The summer that felt so never-ending?
Look all around you, so little has changed.
It's the same old struggles, just by different names.
I know fifty years may have passed since then,
but it's never too late to start caring again.
Sometimes it feels like we've forgotten how to dream.
Like wanting peace and love is shameful and naïve.
But nothing can stop us as long as we just dare to believe!
So dust off your passion, there's no time to hesitate!
Let us show them that flowers will always beat the hate.
We'll start small and dream big, like in 1968.
Contributed by Dq82 - 2021/3/27 - 12:02
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