George

There are no more heroes.
They packed their things,
and left us sleeping in our beds.
Off into the forever night.
Under the dead low moon.
away for good.
A meandering and medicated
generation of cowards have
proceeded a lifetime of legends.
And I can't hide
my shame.
my guilt.
Not too long ago:
hardened hands lifted American soil
to the sun to drain the blood.
And the eager dogs
were set lose to wreak their havoc.
But somewhere along the line,
we lost our desire
to plummet into the burning discontent
that makes us human.
The insatiable hunger
to write your own legacy
on your time,
with your own words,
from your frightened conscience;
it's all gone now.
The dying breed
finally came home to retire
and watch the world burn down
before their eyes.
They left us.
They left us.
They left us.
They left us.
Say it as may times as you want,
it will always hurt.
no more thinkers and dreamers.
no more songs or books
no time to stop and have a beer
under the bridge with your best friends.

We were there for the last of the revolutions
but were persuaded to bite our tongues
and look away.
I'm sorry that we listened to them.

This morning, in a his house in Santa Monica,
George Carlin drew his last breath
and gave us his bitter farewell.
Proving that now, more than ever,
we are grossly out-numbered.