Bell-bottoms flare, a blur of blue, Teenage fists clench, nowhere to accrue Peace of mind, the world's a spinning wheel, American Dream a fractured, shattered deal.
Elvis' hips once set the rhythm straight, Now folk guitars wail of a war they hate. Yesterday's poodle skirts, today's miniskirt's cry, Reflecting a rebellion in every passing by.
Hairspray stings, a haze of discontent, Confused by headlines, where innocence is spent. Marches roar, a righteous, angry tide, Seeking justice, a future they can't hide.
Beatles blare, a symphony of change, Psychedelic dreams rearrange, rearrange. Flowers in their hair, a protest's sweet perfume, Searching for the answer, breaking out of the tomb.
Books and sit-ins, a battle for the mind, Equality's a truth they desperately find. The world's a puzzle, pieces don't align, But hope's a flickering ember, refusing to decline.
They'll keep on searching, these teenagers loud, Shaking the status quo, breaking through the crowd. Angry and confused, yet striving to create, A better world, a future they can't wait.
Paul, you have expressed the feelings most musicians I know and have known truly feel. You captured it. You write from your soul — it is truly magical.
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