WOODSTOCK
Joni Mitchell

I came upon a child of God
He was walking along the road
And I asked him, where are you going
And this he told me
I'm going on down to Yasgur's farm
I'm going to join in a rock 'n' roll band
I'm going to camp out on the land
And try and get my soul free
We are stardust
We are golden
And we've got to get ourselves
Back to the garden

Then can I walk beside you
I have come here to lose the smog
And I feel to be a cog in something turning
Well maybe it is just the time of year
Or maybe it's the time of man
I don't know who l am
But life is for learning
We are stardust
We are golden
And we've got to get ourselves
Back to the garden

By the time we got to Woodstock
We were half a million strong
And everywhere there was song and celebration
And I dreamed I saw the bombers
Riding shotgun in the sky
And they were turning into butterflies
Above our nation
We are stardust
We are golden
And we've got to get ourselves
Back to the garden

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The End
Jim Morrison

This is the end, Beautiful friend
This is the end, My only friend, the end
Of our elaborate plans, the end
Of everything that stands, the end
No safety or surprise, the end
I'll never look into your eyes...again
Can you picture what will be, So limitless and free
Desperately in need...of some...stranger's hand
In a...desperate land
Lost in a Roman...wilderness of pain
And all the children are insane, All the children are insane
Waiting for the summer rain, yeah
There's danger on the edge of town
Ride the King's highway, baby
Weird scenes inside the gold mine
Ride the highway west, baby
Ride the snake, ride the snake
To the lake, the ancient lake, baby
The snake is long, seven miles
Ride the snake...he's old, and his skin is cold
The west is the best, The west is the best
Get here, and we'll do the rest
The blue bus is callin' us, The blue bus is callin' us
Driver, where you taken' us
The killer awoke before dawn, he put his boots on
He took a face from the ancient gallery
And he walked on down the hall
He went into the room where his sister lived, and...then he
Paid a visit to his brother, and then he
He walked on down the hall, and
And he came to a door...and he looked inside
Father, yes son, I want to kill you
Mother...I want to...fuck you
C'mon baby, take a chance with us
C'mon baby, take a chance with us
C'mon baby, take a chance with us
And meet me at the back of the blue bus
Doin' a blue rock, On a blue bus
Doin' a blue rock, C'mon, yeah
Kill, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill
This is the end, Beautiful friend
This is the end, My only friend, the end
It hurts to set you free
But you'll never follow me
The end of laughter and soft lies
The end of nights we tried to die
This is the end

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Still Life With Woodpecker
An Excerpt
Tom Robbins

On the campus of Outlaw College, professors of essential insanities would characterize the conflicting attitudes of Nina Jablonski and Leigh-Cheri as indicative of a general conflict between social idealism and romanticism. As any of the learned professors would explain, plied with sufficient tequila, no matter how fervently a romantic might support a movement, he or she eventually must withdraw from active participation in that movement because the group ethic--the supremacy of the organization over the individual--is an affront to intimacy. Intimacy is the principal source of the sugars with which this life is sweetened. It is absolutely vital to the essential insanities. Without the essential (intimate) insanities, humor becomes inoffensive and therefore pap, poetry becomes exoteric and therefore prose, eroticism becomes mechanical and therefore pornography, behavior becomes predictable and therefore easy to control. As for magic, there's none at all because the aim of any social activist is power over others, whereas a magician seeks power over only himself: the power of higher consciousness, which, while universal, cosmic even, is manifest in the intimate. It would seem that a whole human being would have the capacity for both intimacy and social action, yet sad to say, every cause, no matter how worthy, eventually falls prey to the tyranny of the dull mind. In the movement, as in the bee house or the white ant's hill of clay, there is no place for idiosyncrasy, let alone mischief.
A romantic, however, recognizes that the movement, the organization, the institution, the revolution, if it comes to that, is merely a backdrop for his or her own personal drama and that to pretend otherwise is to surrender freedom and will to the totalitarian impulse, is to replace psychological reality with sociological illusion, but such truth never penetrates the Glo-Coat of righteous conviction that surrounds the social idealist when he or she is identifying with the poor or the exploited. Since, on a socio-economic level, there are myriad wrongs that need to be righted, a major problem for the species seems to be how to assist the unfortunate, throttle the corrupt, preserve the biosphere, and effectively organize for socio-economic alteration without the organization being taken over by dullards, the people who, ironically, are best suited to serving organized causes since they seldom have anything more imaginative to do and, restricted by tunnel vision, probably wouldn't do it if they had.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Tearing Everyone Down
Anti-Flag

I thought I'd begun to see a change
But the more things change, the more they stay the same
Back stabbing and name calling, the trade marks of your act
You talk and talk of unity, but divide with your attacks

(You say), "I'd like to see a change,
I'd like to see a change,
I'd like to see a change, but I'm too busy...
Tearing everyone down..."

All us kids, we try to make a change
Some kids start a band, others start a zine
YOU, no matter what your path
You throw a curve in what could be achieved,
Then give up and move onto some other thing

(You say), "I'd like to see a change,
I'd like to see a change,
I'd like to see a change, but I'm too busy...
Tearing everyone down..."

Take a break
from your fights,
try to open up your mind tonight
When you feel
that's complete
then we can tackle this society!

You may not like
everything in life I do...
But that doesn't mean,
I'm not trying to change
the same problems as you

(You say), "I'd like to see a change,
I'd like to see a change,
I'd like to see a change, but I'm too busy...
Tearing everyone down..."

++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Zealots
The Fugees

Another MC lose his life tonight, lord
I beg that you pray to Jesus Christ, why
O lord, father don't let him bury me, whoa I haunt MC's like Mephistophales
Bringin swords and Damacles
Secret service keep a close watch as if my name was Kennedy
Abstract raps simple with a street format
Gaze into the sky and measure planets by parallax.
Check out the retrograde motion, kill the notion
Of biting and recycling and calling it your own creation.
I Feel like Rockwell, "Somebody's watching me"
I got no privacy whether on land or at sea.
And for you biting zealots, your raps are cacophonic
Hypocrit, critic, but deep inside you wish you had the pop hit.
It hurts don't it, the refugees come to your turf and take over the earth.
See my rhymes are the type of fly rhymes
That can only get down with my crew
And if you try to take lines or bite rhymes
We'll show you how the refugees do.
Behold, as my odes, manifold on your rhymes
Two MC's can't occupy the same space at the same time.
It's against the laws of Physics.
So weep as your sweet dreams break up like Eurythmics
Rap rejects my tape deck, ejects projectile
Whether jew or gentileI rank top percentile,
Many styles,More powerful than gamma rays
My grammar pays,Like Carlos Sanatana plays
Black Magic Woman...
So while you fuming, I'm consuming
Mango juice under Polaris,You're just embarrassed
Cause it's your "Last Tango in Paris"
And even after all my logic and my theory,I add a muthafucker so you ignorant niggas hear me.
And you remember take notes,As I sow my rap oats
And for you biting zealots, here's a quote.
Another MC lose his life tonight, lord
I beg that you pray to Jesus Christ, why
O lord, father don't let him bury me, whoa
You can try but you can't divide the tri
These cats can't rap, Mr. Author I feel no Vibe
The magazine says the girl should have gone solo,
The guys should stop rapping, vanish like Menudo.
Took it to the heart, but every actor plays his part
As long as someone was listening, I knew it was a start,
For me to get a chance, grab my pen and revamp
Do a cameo while everybody do the dance.
Quick now, cause you runnin' out of lucka
Playin' Mr. Big, I'm gonna get you sucka.
While you munchin at your luncheon, I'll be planning your assassination
Then hit you like the Dutchmen
I compress sound sets with my rap DBX
Then drop vocals on my 456 AMPEXB
ring terror to the shop of horror,As she cries "Mi amor"
The phantom dies in the opera
And to the youngin's who carry gadgets
And kill 6 days a week then on a sabbath.
Violence ain't necessary, unless you provoke me
Then get buried like the great Mussolini
And for you bitin' Zealots
Your rap styles are relics
No matter who you damage
Your still a false prophet.
Another MC lose his life tonight, lord
I beg that you pray to Jesus Christ, why
O lord, father don't let him bury me, whoa

++++++++++++++++++++++

Home Free
Sonja Sohn

My back is against a brick wall
I got a Mack truck two inches from MY FACE!!
Well run free baby, run now
It just looks hard, but it would be, SOOO easy
Just turn around and go!
Clip all the wires, hook-ups and hangups
and then you're HOME FREE
You can give birth, torrents you so easily
you'll believe it's always been there
While the natural order made-to-order
by your forever clever MIND
CONSTANTLY protecting you against things
you no longer need to be protected FROM!
AND I, BELIEVE!
I believe like a holy roller
Singing sweaty preaching Go Tell It On The Mountain
While speaking in twenty different tongues and diving
in ten thousand feet of baptismal water
without a life preserver
I believe like my bullet-ridden brother
out there somewhere RIGHT NOW
Gurgling blood through his LAST BREATH
Spitting out a red bright prayer
So new, so sweet, so baby fresh
So full of truth he thinks he can save his life!

God does not exist in desperation
And Hope is lying dead, somewhere in the sewer
down the street around the corner in the alley
underneath the feet of somebody
ITCHING SCRATCHING TREMBLING
CHOSEN for that next heat and suckin somebody's dick!

Got two minutes y'all
I got TWO MOTHERFUCKIN MINUTES
before I run free or die, y'all!
Two minutes...
before I, smash my face into the grill of a Mack truck
Before I get, ten thousand bricks shoved up my ass
Before I, RUN, FREE, OR, DIE!