Born In The Wrong Time

It was the summer of ’02.

The heat was heavier than usual.

I packed up my things.

And headed out on the interstate:

Seeking the great education, expected in the millennial age.

Weightless in the wind, a young man, carried away.

I got lost in the binary wreckage of the digital age.

But we found Kerouac days,

and White Album nights.

We were bartering our consciousness for insights.

-

We were sunbeams,

and the world was a tan;

starving for the light where

the great revolution began.

-

We were prime for the fight.

We were born in the wrong time.

Born in the wrong time.

-

The summer got cold, the school year was long.

Days were short, and the war was on.

everything had changed.

-

We stood in lines on the street sides.

We sang about the changing of the times.

We sang about them staying the same.

We sang about politics and picking sides.

We sang “Who really believes in the American dream?”

-

We were young.

We were angry.

-

We were sunbeams.

The world was a tan;

starving for the light where the

great revolution began.

-

We were prime for the fight.

We were born in the wrong time.

Born in the wrong time.