(Shamelessly plagiarized from the poem "To an Athlete Dying Young" by A. E. Housman)
That time in the sixties you made your point
And celebrated with a joint;
Protesters stood cheering by,
And everyone of them was high.
To-day, you dwell within that past,
Desperate that your theories last,
But sadly, they have been debunked,
And Marx himself has been depunked.
Smart man, to slip into a haze
Where always is the dialectic praised,
And all your dreams might come to be
Untouched by life's reality.
Eyes that glittered with fanatic passion
Cannot forever be in fashion,
And slogans chanted from those marches
Have given way to Golden Arches
Once you weren't just antiwar
You understood what you were for,
But then the shit, it hit the fan--
The cause had died before the man
And after all the echoes faded,
The deaths and miseries paraded,
The consequences of your cause
Its inhumane and fatal flaws
You choose to close your eyes instead,
It's not your fault they all are dead!
You'll find another cult as good--
Potentially in victimhood.
And when you finally face your death,
So close to breathing your last breath;
Consider all the pain and strife
Your ideals caused in real life.
UPDATE: Life imitates art. [OK, something akin to art]
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