When cities stumble to the beach,
And children sing the latest craze,
And skinheads rampage out of reach.
And
presidents go off to bathe,
And
party leaders to the hills,And underlings do not behave
But, drunken, loll on windowsills.
It’s
difficult to call to mind
The
facts asserted by the few,The prophets and the thinking kind;
Who believes in sorrow? Do you?
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© July 1980