Memory of a Free Festival

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The Children of the summer's end
Gathered in the dampened grass,
We played Our songs
and felt the London sky
Resting on our hands.
It was God's land.
It was ragged and naive.
It was Heaven.

Touch We touched the very soul
Of holding each and every life.
We claimed the very source of joy ran
through.
It didn't, but it seemed that way.
I kissed a lot of people that day.

Oh, to capture just one drop of all the
ecstasy
that swept that afternoon,
To paint that love upon a white balloon,
And fly it from the topest top of all the tops
that man has pushed beyond his brain.
Satori must be something just the same.

We scanned the skies with rainbow eyes
and saw machines of every shape and size.
We talked with tall Venusians passing
through.
And Peter tried to climb aboard
but the Captain shook his head
And away they soared,
Climbing through the ivory vibrant cloud.
Someone passed some bliss among the
crowd.
And We walked back to the road,
unchained.

"The Sun Machine is Coming Down,
and We're Gonna Have a Party."
"The Sun Machine is Coming Down,
and We're Gonna Have a Party."
"The Sun Machine is Coming Down,
and We're Gonna Have a Party."
"The Sun Machine is Coming Down,
and We're Gonna Have a Party."
"The Sun Machine is Coming Down,
and We're Gonna Have a Party."

 

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