Marching together to Grosvenor Square,
The tribes in their finery, off to the fair,
What were we marching for, why were we there?
Angels and anarchists, hunter and prey,
Chanting our nursery-rhymes on the way:
‘Hey, Hey!  LBJ!
How many kids did you bomb today!’

Where were we marching to?  
What was it for?
Which was the enemy?
Where was the war?

Armoured in innocence, Tolkein and weed,
Crawling on waterbeds, rapping on speed,
Passionate, indolent, sure of our creed,
Reading Marcusé and missing the rent,
Crashing with strangers from Goa to Ghent,
‘Hey, Hey! LBJ!’
How many dreams did you crush today!’

Who were we shouting at?
What did we know?
Whose were the dreams we dreamed?
Where did they go?

Ferried and buried in mud on the Wight,
Building a city of love overnight,
Dervishes whirling and tripping the light,
Writhing and raving, splattered in paint,
Choking and toking and ready to faint,
‘Hey, Hey! LBJ!
How many tabs did you drop today!’

Who were we dancing with?
How many hours?
Where are the songs we sung?
Whose are these flowers?