English Boys

When I was seventeen I saw a magazine.
It had those English boys who had long hair.
When I was on my own they moved into my town,
And I just called 'em up and they'd be there.
In 1969 I had a lousy time.
I listened to the songs, read letters sent from Nam.
Now peace and love were gone, the tired soldiers home.
Ideal society gunned down the seventies.
Does it feel the same to you?
Why do you act the way you do?
Pack it up or pack it in.
There's no excuse.
Could the hands of time reverse?
Would we wake or take the ride
And again speak with one voice?
We knew each other well although we never met.
Messages passed to tell equal respect.
Coincidence recurred.
I had to laugh a lot.
One week hung up superb, said maybe not.