Neon sunset in the glass,
selling memories of the past.
We were one tribe, wild and free,
now we're lone wolves, you and me.
Fog is crawling through the Haight,
flowers withered, it's too late.
Freedom was a beautiful lie,
or a prophet's empty sky.
The ash of Aquarius is falling down,
on every peace sign, on every crown.
We sang for love, we sang for peace,
now we just sing to be released.
Pacifist sold his shield for bread,
hippie sold his guitar for a bed.
Nobody sleeps on the square tonight,
and nobody asks if you're alright.
New movements rise like smoke from fires
that we lit in sixty-nine...
We died inside our own desires.
We died inside our minds.
The ash of Aquarius is falling down...
We were the dream.
We were the sound.
Now we're just ghosts in a shopping mall,
waiting for nothing,
waiting for the fall.
The Ash of Aquarius
© Copyright: Андрей Шишкин 5, 2026
Свидетельство о публикации №126091007171
Свидетельство о публикации №126091007171
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