Born Too Late To Be A Punk Rocker With Flowers In My Hair
You’re born too late. Too late for a (compared to this) non-problematic life where one could see four gentlemen from Liverpool, somewhere between boys and men, occupy Shea Stadium to the sound of screamingly fainting admirers wearing different colored neat diadems as they’re cheering for that boy with the tousled hair to call her sometime on the number she threw up on the scene written on the inside on a bra.
Born too late to listen to a soon to become revolutionary man, talking about how he have some crazy dream that seemed to be so far away, but with time came closer and closer until it finally arrived with an extremely delayed train to Washington D.C. definite to change the world.
The very first moon walking in ‘69 is past, you can’t even see Michael Jackson do it anymore.
“Well, we all just missed out on practically everything worth living for.”
So “Rome is burning”, he said, watching the flames assume his own so called Rome as he, with a sigh, poured himself another really old whiskey to drink while he listened to his live Beatles album recorded on a vinyl-disc in Queens, New York 1965. He placed the black and white disc case next to the half full (or maybe half empty) glass, and replayed his favorite quote as a mantra in his mind. “I have a dream, I have a dream, I have a dream…”
/Sincerely; a realist influenced by pessimism, still suffering from nostalgia
Go figure
