Year gone and the fevers still come
I find self lost in memories
and you downplay the trauma,
thinking your pain cannot be as great
as generations in other times
1000 y stare
No cheering masses hailed you hero
No procession in Rome for the conquerors returned
And gold filled tribute coffers
And captive slave states
Inspire no gratitude in plebes
Even the hawks clamoring for war forget you exist
and the protests are against you
Do you sit and wonder if you should have
burned your draft card (no draft card you chose this you ass)
fled to canada
grew your hair long smoked pot and
littered the white house lawn w picket signs
Will we be spit on by long hairs that call us baby killers
It can't hurt more than spitting on ourselves
Were we betrayed by
a slick texas con artist in a good ol' boy government?
by the mindless masses screaming for gladiator blood?
in a media coliseum
with fear fueled rage
or by ourselves?