Byzatntium Ravanchium

Oh yes, this is a world for old men, with the young slowly reconstructing, according to new digital paths. The boomer generation have cast their songs. . . the Beatle hits, the Deja Vu clouded seas, with Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young commending to all generations past, present and future. . . whatever is to be or not to be: that is the challenge: whether 'tis nobler in the ides of baby boomering persons. . . to tackle a screwed-up world, and by amending, unscrew it. Now an aging boomer is but an anti-dialectic thing, a patch-up coat hung upon a crescent moon, unless Soul clap its hands and sing. . .every remnant of a half-remembered song. . . for what it's worth. . . there's something happ'n'in here; what it is ain't exactly clear. . . and wooden ships, on the water. . .

 and then along comes the bard, the poet who was blowin' in the wind, every wind of news and views and multi-colored hues, and now he's ceased his blowin' in the wind. Now there's a new track laid upon the wide, wide prairies of American time, a slow train coming round the bend. . . "Man's ego's inflated; his laws are outdated. . . there's a man on the cross, and he be crucified for you; just believe in His power; that's all about all you got to do". . . It's up to you. King of Soul