In the less than middle of the night of our lives
In broad neon light before cabbies and queens
Seven stunning shots sped through the New York Night
Ripping through the joy of our lives
Struck us through the heart. One who is blood coursing through our youth
When we all wore our hair in bubbles and beehives
Those four burst forth our lives in song. Oh joyous song.
Sent our spirits coursing with beat and bounce
Electric laughter our drummers danced
Oh wondrous right-on tune of our hearts
Our passions roused, Moved were our feet
To thump, pelvis to rock, fingers to snap.
Melody burst upon the scene an irrepressible joy
Our bodies rocked the first courage of our age.
Our Eisenhower-years hearts were electrified with hope
A sense of future. A time of our own.
Most subtle revolution since Bach who beneficently and
Polyphonously rolled over round and round in glee
Four baby boys pulsing a beat that pumps our blood.
Mass and lone, singing and ringing out
The song of This Is What Can Be. Let it be. Then
Suddenly, we are not half the men we were Yesterday
Struck down a heart we held as ours. Leaving us all the lonely people.
We must go back to where we all belong.
For such a long moment they had swept us away from
Where we all came from. And made it better.
So much better.
We are stunned. We are real nowhere man. Don’t know where we’re going to
Going round ‘n round in our grief
Struck stunned that He, A part of us so vibrant
Was struck down in the middle of the night of our lives.