Boomers' Choice

The boys came marching home from Germany and France, and The Bomb had made a blast in Hiroshima. We were driving brand new cars; we were waving stars and bars, and everywhere was another factory. Back in 1953, cruising with Dwight E. Elvis sangthe white boy blues; McCarthy looking under every bush, in the home of the brave and the free, rolling on prosperity, and all the kids were going off to school. Ten years down the road, another dream had come and gone, and the power of one gun had made itself known. Back in 1964, big Lyndon opened the door for civil rights and a bloody Asian war. Young men on pork chop hill; young women on the pill. At home wesaid don’t kill; get a psychedelic thrill. But the dreams of Woodstock nation were just an imagination when the boys came trudgin’ home in ’73.

And it’s hey, hey ho, is there anybody home? and its high, high hay, seeking light in the night of day. But the dreams And it’s hey, hey ho, is there anybody home? and its high, high hay, seeking light in the night of day. Well it just don’t pay to sob; guess I’ll get myself a job selling leisure suits, or maybe real estate. I’m not moving very fast; I’m just waitin’ in line for gas, and Johnny Carson gives me all my news. Back in 1976, overcoming dirty tricks. Some were moving back to the sticks; some were looking for a fix. Ayatollah’s on the rise; sulfur dioxide in the skies, and the system makes the man that’s got his own. They say an elephant won’t forget; let’s play another set; there’s always another ghost on pacman’s tail. Don’t let this boom go stale; let’s find an airline sale, or pop another tape in the VCR. Back in 1989, we’re living on borrowed time, gettin’ lost in subtle sin eatiin’ oat bran at the gym. There’s. an empty place inside, and I was wondering why; these vanities don’t suit; I’m going back to the gospel truth. And its hey hey ho is there anybody home? and its high high hey, seekin’ light in the night of day. There’s an empty place inside, and I was wondering why; these vanities don’t suit; I’m going back to the gospel truth. Put on your Serajevo, Mogadishu, Kalishnikov and Columbine shoes. The way is treacherous with ruts and rocks. Yeah, we figured our digits out before that Y2K could spoil our route, but that 9/11 call was in the cards. Did you consider the question of heaven before the wreck of ’07?. Will you hear the trumpet call from the Ancient of Days? Our way is littered with fits and fads, from Baghdad to our mouse pads the reaper swings his steely scythes across our wicked ways. (To be continued.) http://www.micahrowland.com/carey/Boomer’s Choice.mp3 Glass half-full