Today is Victory in Europe Day.

Today I will not join in with the jingoistic celebrations. They make me very uneasy. I do not like the nationalistic tone.

Instead I shall think about what it all meant. I shall think about my Mother. She had a lot of friends killed when a doodlebug (V1 rocket) landed in the street across from her. She went on to work in Churchill’s bunker in Downing Street and was very much part of the war effort.

I shall think of my father who went off to fight in Sicily and Italy as a despatch rider.

Fortunately they both survived but I think they were both scarred mentally and traumatised by what they had seen and the friends they had lost.

War is a bastard.

I feel incredibly fortunate that neither myself nor my children have had to go off and fight in any war. I’ve seen the effect on Vietnam and Iraq veterans. The violence, death and horror warp minds. People are changed forever.

So – it is worth celebrating that war is over.

It is worth celebrating that fascism was defeated.

It is worth celebrating that the racism that put millions into death camps was beaten.

But I won’t join in with the sentiment that Britain was great and we beat the Germans. I hate that jingoistic nationalism.

Inside Germany there was a resistance to what Hitler and his scummy friends were doing. I’m with those in Germany who fought and risked torture and death to overthrow a dictatorship.

I am opposed to those who have purloined the Union Jack as a nationalistic symbol of their fascist ideals.

Unfortunately the Union Jack has come to symbolise an ideology I am utterly opposed to.

Poetry – The Answer – a protest at war and violence – conformity and intolerance.

Vice and Verse cover 51K9Up4uCYL__SX331_BO1,204,203,200_ 61U89AzgoAL__AA160_ Rituals, Odes & Mystic anxieties Prose Cons and poetry cover

The Answer

There are rare occasions where war is the only answer – when an evil is too great to ignore. But those times are few and far between.

Wouldn’t it be better if people talked about their dreams and beliefs, argued their case and, no matter how strongly they felt, were able to accept and get along with those whose views are different?

Yet this seems not to be the case.

Politics and religion stir up division and hatred and unleash war and violence. People are forced to comply.

War is a terrible thing. It invariably stirs up more hatred. It makes matters worse.

It is not necessary that all people agree or believe in the same thing. How many religions, professing love, peace and harmony, seek war or strictly enforced customs, to enforce their views on anyone who doubts their validity? How many countries seek to increase their power or gain wealth through war and stoke up racism, division, fear, hatred and nationalism as an excuse?

 

The Answer

Answering grievances with bombs –

Settling scores.

Defending beliefs with guns –

Instead of love.

Proving points with power,

Threats and murder.

Dividing and demeaning,

Fighting and hating,

Despising and killing,

Controlling and enforcing,

Instead of arguing our case

And allowing others to weigh it up

For themselves –

Demanding, destroying and subjugating –

In a merry-go-round

Of politics,

Religion,

Race,

Nationalism

And economic greed

Where war is always the answer.

 

Opher 30.10.2016

If you would Like to purchase any of my poetry books they can be purchased in paperback or digitally from Amazon for £3 or £4..

In the UK:

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Opher-Goodwin/e/B00MSHUX6Y/ref=sr_tc_2_0?qid=1477349606&sr=1-2-ent

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Rituals-Mystic-Anxieties-Opher-Goodwin/dp/153480336X/ref=la_B00MSHUX6Y_1_8?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1477387249&sr=1-8

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Stanzas-Stances-Opher-Goodwin-2015-10-22/dp/B01K9C6UDO/ref=la_B00MSHUX6Y_1_20?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1477387321&sr=1-20

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Codas-Cadence-Clues-Goodwin-2016-03-27/dp/B01K95UNDO/ref=la_B00MSHUX6Y_1_21?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1477387321&sr=1-21

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Vice-Verse-Opher-Goodwin-2015-07-02/dp/B01K93MODS/ref=la_B00MSHUX6Y_1_22?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1477387321&sr=1-22

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Rhymes-Reason-Opher-Goodwin/dp/1516991184/ref=la_B00MSHUX6Y_1_23?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1477387321&sr=1-23

In the USA:

https://www.amazon.com/Opher-Goodwin/e/B00MSHUX6Y/ref=sr_tc_2_0?qid=1477349625&sr=1-2-ent

https://www.amazon.com/Stanzas-Stances-Opher-Goodwin-ebook/dp/B0170NHKK2/ref=la_B00MSHUX6Y_1_12?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1477349628&sr=1-12

https://www.amazon.com/Codas-Cadence-Clues-Opher-Goodwin-ebook/dp/B01DIG0ILS/ref=la_B00MSHUX6Y_1_13?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1477387551&sr=1-13&refinements=p_82%3AB00MSHUX6Yht

tps://www.amazon.com/Vice-Verse-Opher-Goodwin-ebook/dp/B010U4E9B6/ref=la_B00MSHUX6Y_1_15?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1477387551&sr=1-15&refinements=p_82%3AB00MSHUX6Y

https://www.amazon.com/Rhymes-Reason-Opher-Goodwin/dp/1516991184/ref=la_B00MSHUX6Y_1_16?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1477387551&sr=1-16&refinements=p_82%3AB00MSHUX6Y

My Weird Surreal Sixties Book – The Anti-War bit – Chapter 53.

This was almost the conclusion. I wanted, out of all the possibilities available, my character to meet an end with purpose. I made it into an anti-war statement.

53. 

Messny descended from the clouds and walked naked on the barren soil. The night was pitch-black beyond the power of the eye to see. The sky was obscured by smoke and the Earth reflected and multiplied the darkness. A stroboscopic flashing periodically illuminated the scene. The outlines of broken trees, jagged walls and ragged craters stood out in silhouette with the injection of colour. The flashes of searing white, red and yellow signalled a following series of cracks and explosions. The flickering and crashing followed no discernible pattern, receding or drawing nearer without warning, incessantly puncturing the darkness and peace.

All around the soil was pocked mud with no hint of vegetation.

 p1120133-2

All that lived was destroyed apart from the odd struggling plant seeping its life juices into the soil. All plants and creatures, big and small, had been blown into fragments by shrieking blasts of metal. The greens and reds flowed together as they were soaked up by the brown spongy soil.

Messny walked through the mud, his toes squelching in the glutinous mud as it sucked everything into stillness.

Messny walked through mud.

Soon he swam and wallowed in the mud.

At last he sank beneath the surface and was transported into the depths below. Gory mud filled his eyes and ears and deadened his senses. For hours he hung suspended in the gluey mud. It forced its way into his mouth and nostrils and penetrated his lungs. It set and moulded into the beautiful tree-like patterns of his branching bronchioles and alveoli. It filled every cavity and contour.

Above the featureless land the guns roared incessantly, shrapnel screamed and the flashes of explosions revealed the endless ravages, the pock-marked morass, and broken landscape that had been created as they sought to reduce anything that lived to its components.

The mud around Messny turned to blood.

He sank slowly through the warm, semi-clotted blood – a tepid mass of congealing jelly. The blood usurped the mud, in his mouth and gut. It coagulated in his stomach.

As he sank further the blood was left behind and he found himself festooned with a twisting mass of living entrails, slithering across his naked body like snakes. They entangled his limbs and pulled him this way and that, undulating as if he were marooned in a sea of eels.

He descended and left them behind, giving himself up to the warmth and peace. The blood tasted of rancid burst guts, nauseous and stinking of decay.

Next was the stratum of severed limbs, each with strands of torn flesh streaming from their mangled ends. They swirled and bumped against him, with pulpy swollen fingers touching and exploring his body as they passed, poking into his eyes and mouth. But Messny could not move to push them aside.

The limbs were ripped and torn with hideous wounds that oozed pus and blood adding a gangrenous flavour to the sickening cocktail.

Heads and torsos reeled in macabre dance around his face – grotesque heads with shattered skulls and brains oozing to stain the crimson grey.

A rain of burst eyes and shattered teeth fell upon him through the viscous neuronal gel and sticky fluids.

Internal organs protruded through shattered chests and ruptured torsos from which the guts had fled.

There was no age or sex down here. Size was a bad judge. Shrapnel had ripped and shortened to perfection – no more beauty or beast. Here all were made equal – young and old, male and female, baby and grandmother – all reduced to assorted wreckage making a poor judge of everyone.

Blackened, burnt bodies with singed flesh melted from the bone – cooked too long.

Babies bodies with gaping wounds like extra mouths.

Messny had seen too much. He wretched and the gaping mouths chuckled with delight. There was no escape.

The guts and bodies closed in on him, pressing on him, the mouths laughed, the brains and limbs jiggled around, smothering him, crushing him.

Messny fought to break loose and rose from the depths

He shot out of the mud screaming.

They were all alive! They were still all alive!

He coughed blood and excreta from his lungs. He sank on his knees to wretch the foul fluid from his gut and rid himself of the taste of filthy fluids that could never be washed away completely.

He rose back into the battle that still roared intent on producing more to join the myriad throng below. With each crash he flinched and trembled. The strobing flashes peaked into a non-stop flickering as the guns pounded out their crescendo.

Nothing remained in the holocaust. No side could win. A scene from Bosch brought from medieval times into reality and worse, far worse that any mind can possibly imagine.

Two men held him down. They dragged him to a stretcher and tied him down with straps of leather.

Messny’s eyes rolled in tongue-tied horror. His ears detected a distant background screaming. He realised that it had been a feature of this world for as long as he could remember. It was a terrible, hysterical scream that threatened to rip vocal chords, burst ear-drums and pass beyond the range of the human ear. He vaguely wondered who it was.

The straps cut into him and the journey was long and bumpy as the valiant stretcher bearers toiled through the cloying mud.

The screaming followed them unabated.

He lay back on the stretcher as he was jostled along listening to the shrill pitch with detachment.

They finally reached their destination and he was unceremoniously dumped on the firm ground. A doctor appeared out of the haze, expertly assessing the damage and administering an injection. Then he was gone.

The screaming ceased and was replaced with a low moan that broke off into gibbering.

In the distance the flashing and crashes continued and the ground shook.

Messny pondered on the strange things that he had witnessed and tried to make sense of it. How had they still been alive? How had those heads, limbs and intestines still been vibrating with life? How was that possible? Those babies so hideously injured?  Even down to the corpuscles of blood? Why had they twined together in such grotesque manner and not found peace in death?

Messny lay on the hard ground and it was cold. Yet the soft mud had been warm with living organs, living blood, living brains. It did not make sense.

The world by day was brown and blue but often tinged with red and fear.

As he lay there his mind walked between the stone slabs. They were all lined up in their thousands, all new and shiny. They made light of the carnage; they were too pristine. They did not speak of ripped flesh and pus, gangrene and screams. All in their neat rows, all well-ordered and tidy with fresh dug soil. But the occupants no longer cared. Their entrails writhed beneath the mud. They did not lay still – stretching into the distance in neat rows – they writhed in agony still.

Messny stood in silence before one of those sanitised slabs – staring at his own name.

He floated upwards away from the ruined earth. He looked down from on high and the landscape appeared lunar, crater, after crater, barren and desolate. The ground fell away.

‘Had they all still been alive?’ He wondered. ‘Would they remain alive forever?’

Inside himself, as he drifted away, he knew they were all him – him in different form, from different journeys and ages. The wounds and ragged flesh were payment.

As he soared the sobbing and weeping fell away. The cold, creeping misery that had numbed his body slipped away. All those hideous flashes and orange plumes were eaten by the darkness.

In front was a distant light with its hint of warmth. Messny moved towards it.

Welcome my friend. Welcome to the light and warmth.

Here there are no lies, no pretence or distance.

Here there is shelter from the storm of change.

Rest awhile.

Here is forever to mend and grow.

There is no need for fear.

You are in the light again.

Welcome.

Cleanse your mind of hate and fear. You no longer have to fight. Here is peace.

Welcome.

Feel part of all you see. Be in harmony.

Be close.

You are in the healing light.

Welcome home stranger.

This is the process of learning.

Welcome.

Refresh yourself. Renew.

 

My books are available on Amazon in paperback and digital formats. They are world-wide!

In the UK you might like to browse through on my link below: For overseas visitors please refer to your local Amazon. You’ll find me there.

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Opher-Goodwin/e/B00MSHUX6Y/ref=sr_tc_2_0?qid=1475747471&sr=1-2-ent

In the USA:

In the USA – https://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=opher+goodwin

Here’s a few selected titles:

Rock Music

  1. The Blues Muse – the story of Rock music through the eyes of the man with no name who was there through it all.

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Blues-Muse-Opher-Goodwin/dp/1518621147/ref=la_B00MSHUX6Y_1_6?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1475748276&sr=1-6

2. In Search of Captain Beefheart – The story of one man’s search for the best music from the fifties through to now.

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Search-Captain-Beefheart-Opher-Goodwin-ebook/dp/B00TQ1E9ZG/ref=la_B00MSHUX6Y_1_5?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1475748276&sr=1-5

Science Fiction

1. Ebola in the Garden of Eden – a tale of overpopulation, government intrigue and a disaster that almost wipes out mankind, warmed by the humanity of children.

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Ebola-Garden-Eden-Opher-Goodwin-ebook/dp/B0116VXVIY/ref=la_B00MSHUX6Y_1_19?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1475749570&sr=1-19

2. Green – A story set in the future where pollution is destroying the planet and factions of the Green Party have different solutions – a girl is born with no nervous system.

Kindle & Paperback versions:

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Green-Opher-Goodwin/dp/1500741221/ref=sr_1_10?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1413306641&sr=1-10&keywords=opher+goodwin

The Environment

1. Anthropocene Apocalypse – a detailed memoir of the destruction taking place all over the globe with views on how to deal with it.

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Anthropocene-Apocalypse-Opher-Goodwin/dp/1502427079/ref=sr_1_4?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1413306641&sr=1-4&keywords=opher+goodwin

Education

  1. A passion for Education – A Headteacher’s story – The inside story of how to teach our children properly.

http://www.amazon.co.uk/passion-Education-story-Headteacher/dp/1502445867/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1413306641&sr=1-1&keywords=opher+goodwin

There are many more – why not give them a go! You’ll love them!

Bob Dylan – A Hard Rain’s A Gonna Fall – Lyrics – an example of the more poetic, complex style of antiwar song.

This is a classic example of how Bob Dylan rapidly developed, to change his style from one of being journalistic and simple into a more poetic and complex style.

This is an anti-war song inspired by the Cuban Missile Crisis. Bob, like many of us, thought that we were all going to be blown to hell by a nuclear war. We did not think we would get home again as the US and Russia squared up and threatened the world with annihilation. How close we got.

Bob thought that he did not have long so wrote everything he had into one song. The imagery is immense – dead oceans, crooked highways, sad forests, burnin’, nobody listenin’, white men and black dogs, guns and sharp swords in the hands of young children, executioner’s face well hidden, mouth of a graveyard – it went on painting pictures! What a song. How powerful!

This was Dylan still singing about issues but using a more poetic language.

We were lucky that time – a hard rain didn’t fall on us – but it is still falling on Syria, Iraq and Afghanistan, Libya and Somalia, Nigeria and Sudan.

When the hell are we going to sort this all out without resorting to violence and war?

“A Hard Rain’s A-Gonna Fall”

Oh, where have you been, my blue-eyed son?
And where have you been my darling young one?
I’ve stumbled on the side of twelve misty mountains
I’ve walked and I’ve crawled on six crooked highways
I’ve stepped in the middle of seven sad forests
I’ve been out in front of a dozen dead oceans
I’ve been ten thousand miles in the mouth of a graveyard
And it’s a hard, it’s a hard, it’s a hard, and it’s a hard
It’s a hard rain’s a-gonna fall.Oh, what did you see, my blue eyed son?
And what did you see, my darling young one?
I saw a newborn baby with wild wolves all around it
I saw a highway of diamonds with nobody on it
I saw a black branch with blood that kept drippin’
I saw a room full of men with their hammers a-bleedin’
I saw a white ladder all covered with water
I saw ten thousand talkers whose tongues were all broken
I saw guns and sharp swords in the hands of young children
And it’s a hard, it’s a hard, it’s a hard, and it’s a hard
It’s a hard rain’s a-gonna fall.

And what did you hear, my blue-eyed son?
And what did you hear, my darling young one?
I heard the sound of a thunder that roared out a warnin’
I heard the roar of a wave that could drown the whole world
I heard one hundred drummers whose hands were a-blazin’
I heard ten thousand whisperin’ and nobody listenin’
I heard one person starve, I heard many people laughin’
Heard the song of a poet who died in the gutter
Heard the sound of a clown who cried in the alley
And it’s a hard, it’s a hard, it’s a hard, it’s a hard
And it’s a hard rain’s a-gonna fall.

Oh, what did you meet my blue-eyed son ?
Who did you meet, my darling young one?
I met a young child beside a dead pony
I met a white man who walked a black dog
I met a young woman whose body was burning
I met a young girl, she gave me a rainbow
I met one man who was wounded in love
I met another man who was wounded in hatred
And it’s a hard, it’s a hard, it’s a hard, it’s a hard
And it’s a hard rain’s a-gonna fall.

And what’ll you do now, my blue-eyed son?
And what’ll you do now my darling young one?
I’m a-goin’ back out ‘fore the rain starts a-fallin’
I’ll walk to the depths of the deepest black forest
Where the people are a many and their hands are all empty
Where the pellets of poison are flooding their waters
Where the home in the valley meets the damp dirty prison
And the executioner’s face is always well hidden
Where hunger is ugly, where souls are forgotten
Where black is the color, where none is the number
And I’ll tell and speak it and think it and breathe it
And reflect from the mountain so all souls can see it
And I’ll stand on the ocean until I start sinkin’
But I’ll know my song well before I start singing
And it’s a hard, it’s a hard, it’s a hard, and it’s a hard
It’s a hard rain’s a-gonna fall.

If you are at all interested in my writing on Blues and Rock Music you can check out my books here:

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Opher-Goodwin/e/B00MSHUX6Y/ref=sr_tc_2_0?qid=1474797981&sr=1-2-ent

I would recommend the Blues Muse or In Search of Captain Beefheart to get you started:

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Blues-Muse-Opher-Goodwin/dp/1518621147/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Search-Captain-Beefheart-Opher-Goodwin-ebook/dp/B00TQ1E9ZG/ref=la_B00MSHUX6Y_1_4?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1474886379&sr=1-4

or

537 Essential Rock Albums Pt. 1

https://www.amazon.co.uk/537-Essential-Rock-Albums-first-ebook/dp/B00OEMO7TA/ref=la_B00MSHUX6Y_1_3?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1474902569&sr=1-3

Opher’s tributes to Rock Geniuses

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Ophers-World-Tributes-Rock-Geniuses-ebook/dp/B00U0NLP4W/ref=la_B00MSHUX6Y_1_32?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1474967124&sr=1-32

Happy Reading!!

Bob Dylan – Blowin’ in the Wind – Lyrics – An early anti-war song. An example of early Dylan ‘Protest’.

The early Bob Dylan had a knack of taking an important subject, such as war, and encapsulating the emotion and presenting the case against in a few words. The songs were simple, had poetic content and were effective. They aroused the sensibilities of a generation and captured the mood of everyone involved. He put into words what everyone was thinking and helped them to make their own feelings and thoughts more concrete. He took us all on a journey into our conscience and helped us empathise and understand in a way nobody else had done. He drew people in so that what started as a small number became a much bigger movement. It fed directly into the late sixties protest movement. I wonder if all the sixties underground would have happened without him.

Albert Grossman recognised the potential (as did the Queen of Folk Joan Baez) and harnessed it. He took Blowin’ in the Wind and persuaded the more poppy Peter Paul and Mary to record it. It was a breakthrough. Dylan was big business. Protest was born. Dylan went on to change the course of Rock Music. He created an adult-orientated movement in both style, structure and content. The man is a genius.

In this time where the world is in uproar, barrel bombs are being dropped in Syria on children, schools, hospitals and relief convoys, we need our protest singers more than ever. Where is the new Bob Dylan? Someone to galvanise our horror into action?

Where is the old Bob Dylan? How about a new album of protest and outrage?

Bob Dylan – Blowin’ In The Wind

How many roads must a man walk down
Before you call him a man ?
How many seas must a white dove sail
Before she sleeps in the sand ?
Yes, how many times must the cannon balls fly
Before they’re forever banned ?
The answer my friend is blowin’ in the wind
The answer is blowin’ in the wind.Yes, how many years can a mountain exist
Before it’s washed to the sea ?
Yes, how many years can some people exist
Before they’re allowed to be free ?
Yes, how many times can a man turn his head
Pretending he just doesn’t see ?
The answer my friend is blowin’ in the wind
The answer is blowin’ in the wind.

Yes, how many times must a man look up
Before he can see the sky ?
Yes, how many ears must one man have
Before he can hear people cry ?
Yes, how many deaths will it take till he knows
That too many people have died ?
The answer my friend is blowin’ in the wind
The answer is blowin’ in the wind.

Songwriters: BOB DYLAN

The Best Anti-War Song Ever – An Untitled Protest – Country Joe & The Fish

51Sz5vEI6eL__SX331_BO1,204,203,200_

Is this the best anti-war song ever? It was written about the Vietnam War with the poem more or less recited over a swelling organ dirge. The effects, with Country Joe’s incredibly clear voice, was chilling.

Country Joe and the Fish were one of the first and foremost Acid Rock Bands to come out of San Francisco in the sixties. They lived in the Haight Asbury area along with other great bands including the Jefferson Airplane, Grateful Dead and Big Brother & the Holding Company. That was quite a scene going on there. I visited in 1971 and it had decayed away but the vestiges were still to be found.

Country Joe and the Fish had their roots in Jugband agitprop and were one of the most political of the West Coast bands. They were, and still are, one of my favourites.

An Untitled Protest by Country Joe & the Fish

Red and swollen tears tumble from her eyes
While cold silver birds who came to cruise the skies
Send death down to bend and twist her tiny hands
And then proceed to target B in keeping with their plans
Khaki priests of Christendom, interpreters of love
Ride a stone Leviathan across a sea of blood
And pound their feet into the sand of shores they’ve never seen
Delegates from the western land to join the death machine
And we send cards and letters.

The oxen lie beside the road their bodies baked in mud
And fat flies chew out their eyes then bathe themselves in blood
And superheroes fill the skies, tally sheets in hand
Yes, keeping score in times of war takes a superman
The junk crawls past hidden death its cargo shakes inside
And soldier children hold their breath and kill them as they hide
And those who took so long to learn the subtle ways of death
Lie and bleed in paddy mud with questions on their breath
And we send prayers and praises.

Country Joe & the Fish – I Feel Like I’m Fixin’ To Die Rag – Great anti-war song

Country Joe 1bandvang

Well Country Joe and the Fish were right out there on the cutting edge of the alternative counter-culture of the sixties. They were the first wave Acid Rock exponents and also had that political edge.

They wanted to shock the establishment. They opposed the Vietnam War and they were promoting the values of peace and love that pervaded the San Franciscan freak culture of the mid-sixties, before it was taken over and subverted with greed, selfishness and big business.

I loved this band.

This track is their best known anti-war track. It is different to their normal Acid Rock sound and harks back to their days as a political jug-band.

The opening chant is meant to shock and offend the prudish establishment. It was OK to blow someone to bits with a bomb but you couldn’t say fuck in public. That was disgusting.

At the time young men were being involuntarily drafted to fight in a war that they saw as ideological and wrong. They did not go for the dominoes theory!

I Feel Like I’m Fixin’ to Die Rag

Give me a F! (F!)
Give me a U! (U!)
Give me a C! (C!)
Give me a K! (K!)
What’s that spell ? (FUCK)
What’s that spell ? (FUCK)
What’s that spell ? (FUCK)
What’s that spell ? (FUCK)
What’s that spell ? (FUCK)

Well, come on all of you, big strong men,
Uncle Sam needs your help again.
Yeah, he’s got himself in a terrible jam
Way down yonder in Vietnam
So put down your books and pick up a gun,
Gonna have a whole lotta fun.

And it’s one, two, three,
What are we fighting for ?
Don’t ask me, I don’t give a damn,
Next stop is Vietnam;
And it’s five, six, seven,
Open up the pearly gates,
Well there ain’t no time to wonder why,
Whoopee! we’re all gonna die.

Yeah, come on Wall Street, don’t be slow,
Why man, this is war au-go-go
There’s plenty good money to be made
By supplying the Army with the tools of its trade,
Just hope and pray that if they drop the bomb,
They drop it on the Viet Cong.

And it’s one, two, three,
What are we fighting for ?
Don’t ask me, I don’t give a damn,
Next stop is Vietnam.
And it’s five, six, seven,
Open up the pearly gates,
Well there ain’t no time to wonder why
Whoopee! we’re all gonna die.

Well, come on generals, let’s move fast;
Your big chance has come at last.
Now you can go out and get those reds
‘Cause the only good commie is the one that’s dead
And you know that peace can only be won
When we’ve blown ’em all to kingdom come.

And it’s one, two, three,
What are we fighting for ?
Don’t ask me, I don’t give a damn,
Next stop is Vietnam;
And it’s five, six, seven,
Open up the pearly gates,
Well there ain’t no time to wonder why
Whoopee! we’re all gonna die.

Come on mothers throughout the land,
Pack your boys off to Vietnam.
Come on fathers, and don’t hesitate
To send your sons off before it’s too late.
You can be the first ones in your block
To have your boy come home in a box.

And it’s one, two, three
What are we fighting for ?
Don’t ask me, I don’t give a damn,
Next stop is Vietnam.
And it’s five, six, seven,
Open up the pearly gates,
Well there ain’t no time to wonder why,
Whoopee! we’re all gonna die.

The Doors – Unknown Soldier – Anti-war lyrics with theatre.

Jim-Morrison-doors-007

The Doors and Jim Morrison were never shy of putting their views across. They were hard-edged and political, uncompromising.

When Jim did his anti-war songs he put everything into it. This song was not only lyrically poetically clear in it’s message but he married to the theatrical element of a mock execution. On stage he would be shot and writhe about. It was something to behold.

Back then we were watching the terrible images of what was going on with every TV newsflash. Nothing was censored. We saw little girls being encased in billowing livid napalm, civilians having their brain blown out in graphic detail. You could watch gruesome death while eating your cornflakes. We were in no doubt about the horror, indiscriminate killing and agony.

The government soon learnt. All future wars were heavily censored and sanitised.

“The Unknown Soldier”

Wait until the war is over
And we’re both a little older
The unknown soldier

Breakfast where the news is read
Television children fed
Unborn living, living, dead
Bullet strikes the helmet’s head

And it’s all over
For the unknown soldier
It’s all over
For the unknown soldier

Hut
Hut
Hut ho hee up
Hut
Hut
Hut ho hee up
Hut
Hut
Hut ho hee up
Comp’nee
Halt
Preeee-zent!
Arms!

Make a grave for the unknown soldier
Nestled in your hollow shoulder
The unknown soldier

Breakfast where the news is read
Television children fed
Bullet strikes the helmet’s head

And, it’s all over
The war is over
It’s all over
The war is over
Well, all over, baby
All over, baby
Oh, over, yeah
All over, baby
Wooooo, hah-hah
All over
All over, baby
Oh, woa-yeah
All over
All over
Heeeeyyyy

Country Joe & the Fish – Untitled Protest – The Best Anti-War Lyric.

CountryJoeAndTheFish_1Country Joe always had a political edge and at the time the Vietnam War was in full flow and the younger generation was questioning its morality and purpose. It seemed futile and waged for ideological reasons.
Anti-War songs were rife.
We thought we had better ways of dealing with things. Talk and diplomacy was better than war.
We did not believe that our elders knew best. We questioned everything.
This was on the second Country Joe album. I thought it was the best anti-war song I had ever heard. It was set to a funereal drone.

An Untitled Protest

Red and swollen tears tumble from her eyes
While cold silver birds who came to cruise the skies
Send death down to bend and twist her tiny hands
And then proceed to target “B” in keeping with their plans
Khaki priests of Christendom interpreters of love
Ride a stone Leviathan across a sea of blood
And pound their feet into the sand of shores they’ve never seen
Delegates from the western land to join the death machine
And we send cards and letters.
The oxen lie beside the road their bodies baked in mud
And fat flies chew out their eyes then bathe themselves in blood
And super heroes fill the skies, tally sheets in hand
Yes, keeping score in times of war takes a superman
The junk crawls past hidden death its cargo shakes inside
And soldier children hold their breath and kill them as they hide
And those who took so long to learn the subtle ways of death
Lie and bleed in paddy mud with questions on their breath
And we send prayers and praises

More lyrics http://www.allthelyrics.com/lyrics/country_joe_mcdonald/an_untitled_protest-lyrics-1246488.html#ixzz3PdQyjI2f

Buffy St Marie – Universal Soldier – Meaningful lyrics.

Buffy_Sainte-Marie_3_(Repetities_1968-03-06_Grand_Gala_du_Disque_Populaire)
Back in the good old sixties a lot of the music I was listening too had a message. It made you think. It took a political/social stance that was idealistic, optimistic and far reaching.
We were a ‘can do’ generation because we believed we could get involved and make things better. And we did.
It wasn’t easy. But the world changed because of the efforts of that generation. It’s more equal, more tolerant, more colourful and more aware. We forget how stereotyped and drab that intolerant, racist world of the unquestioning fifties really was. It certainly wasn’t moral. It was blinkered, repressed and twee.
Buffy St Marie was exceptional. She was a full-blooded native American Indian. There weren’t too many of them left following the genocide of the previous hundred years.
Buffy sang moving songs about the plight of her people but in this one she is highlighting the futility of war.
This was covered and popularised by Donovan who did a brilliant cover.

The Universal Soldier

He’s 5 foot 2 and he’s 6 feet 4
He fights with missiles and with spears
He’s all of 31 and he’s only 17.
He’s been a soldier for a thousand years

He’s a catholic, a Hindu, an atheist, a Jain
A Buddhist, and a Baptist and Jew.
And he knows he shouldn’t kill
And he knows he always will kill
You’ll for me my friend and me for you

And He’s fighting for Canada.
He’s fighting for France.
He’s fighting for the USA.
And he’s fighting for the Russians.
And he’s fighting for Japan
And he thinks we’ll put an end to war this way.

And He’s fighting for democracy,
He’s fighting for the reds
He says it’s for the peace of all.
He’s the one, who must decide,
who’s to live and who’s to die.
And he never sees the writing on the wall.

But without him,
how would Hitler have condemned him at Dachau?
Without him Caesar would have stood alone
He’s the one who gives his body
as a weapon of the war.
And without him all this killing can’t go on

He’s the universal soldier
And he really is the blame
His orders comes from
far away no more.

They come from him.
And you and me.
And brothers can’t you see.
This is not the way we put an end to war

Read more: http://artists.letssingit.com/buffy-sainte-marie-lyrics-universal-soldier-wmz5kk2#ixzz3PdJnu3cE
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