Illusion That War Could Not Touch Us
Spring of 1971, happy laughter
Multi-colored flowers and happy faces
we drive painted vans our parents can afford
We pile in, meeting new friends, some potential lovers
Peppermint breath greet us in half beat valentine waves
Idealists abounded, we flash peace signs in the cosmos
Woodstock knocks around in our dendrite highways
We are determined to drowned out the Viet Nam War
Grayscale news is nightly sharing things that rock our world
We wear rounded rose-colored, or tiny squared off blue granny glasses,
Love beads and two-fingered peace signs resound in our brains
Our hearts are determined to remain child-like magical.
We concentrate on the goodness of strangers
We create our own ambiance we children of the night
Star lit beaches catch our mirthful dancing
Our laughter is excruciatingly loud!
A magical time with an illusion that Viet Nam cannot touch us
Until she does, drafting one son at a time - mostly poor boys
Farm kids and poor kids from Chicago or St. Louis.
Gallantry has not let them escape to Canada.
We dance harder, flinging ourselves into each other’s eyes
Falling in love with every one of the future slain, not seeing fodder.
Helping the disappointed drafted enjoy their last ten days
Giving them brilliant memories for when they are miserable
wetted down in swamps, expecting to die
Reminding them of normalcy before their trip to this unkind place.
Mama Cass and Karen Carpenter are joyfully singing their folk songs
None of us realizing how illusive happily-ever-after is.
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