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Michael Dooley


August fifteenth, sixty nine.
Came the end, came the beginning,
Freedom would come with the singing,
At least that was Richie’s line.
Joan’s song of protest so fine,
Sweet Chariot still Swinging.
Who’s Summertime Blues sweating,
Just like mother’s brow for mine.

Then Sebastian proclaimed it,
“His ‘ol lady just had a baby,”
And everyone chanted, no rain.
Muddy, we, I threw a fit,
He’ll get over it, maybe,
And everyone chanted, no rain.

August sixteenth, sixty nine.
A little help from my friends
Was our anthem in that time,
Yet all good things must end.
They said it couldn’t happen here
But we showed them peace and hope,
Doing it all without fear,
And a constant supply of dope.
This question of right or wrong
A Sly one to take us higher,
Epitomized us in his song,
While we sat in the muck and mire.
And through it all I nursed,
At the breast of a generation cursed.

August seventeenth, sixty nine.
Well it’s, what are we fighting for
And Star Spangled feedback so fine,
But Ten Years After and more
We still do lessons on war.
What happened to the love we tried,
Our anthem to open all doors.
In Chicago and Kent it died,
Four in Ohio were denied.
When I remember it’s with shame
And there were many times I cried.
Through it all I bear the name,
Of the three days and the garbage,
Three days and a ton of garbage.