Chicago Warriors

The streets of Chicago ran red with yuppie blood that night
We danced naked in a place where the grass was greener.
You cornered and clobbered us with your sticks, goddamn cowards.
Tear gas clouds chased us through the alleyways, no escape.
We took the hill, like Roman conquerors in the Elysium fields.
We climbed up the statue like it was ours for keeps.
We are the curly-haired hipsters living by our own moral code.
We march with Abbie Hoffman, we sing with Allen Ginsberg.
We are the beats, the only ones who took a stand against the atrocities
Miles away our brothers shed tears of blood crouched in cramped foxholes, clutching infernal weapons too big for their frail arms.
Miles away our brothers dodge shrapnel from rebels while we dodge rubber bullets from our own.
We march for the Chicago 10 sitting on the wooden bench, while the judge puts on his circus show.
We march for Bobby Seale, poor negro strapped down medieval style in front of a laughing jury.
Our Chicago has become a concentration camp.
The world as we know it is now a battlefield
God has turned his back on the lowly, the downtrodden warriors of the night,
So raise a glass of turpentine and toast the Chicago 10.
May Abbie Hoffman rest in peace, your yuppies will live on forever.