In the sixties
The last decade before the big three score
and ten. Best to keep on the move, evolving then?
A rolling stone gathers no moss, they say; not in
Keith's head, anyway. Soon it will be the freezing season
With all those greens and reds – the hollies and the ivy
and the grateful dead. The starship could fly us, fly us clean away,
But most of us are yard birds, creatures of home, I’d say.
Some of us need pacemakers, others are just troggs,
On this our wedding day the Fairport Convention is logged.
We like our perky coffee with cream and when we’re done
Opening doors politely, the pretty things turn and run.
Surrounded by hoards of byrds, who have the moody blues.
Zombies-all small faces, with smaller souls now too,
There's kinks in their armour, the animals flee the zoo.
Scared witless on Halloween, by ghouls, ghosts and beetles
The Spencer Davis Group spend their time avoiding needles.