My Generation

Born in the fifties
Children of the sixties
Now in our fifties
Soon to be sixties
My generation
Still as loud as its soul, yeah
Not ready to die, die, die
Not ready to fold

Parked by the Panhandle, 1967
Headed for Kezar, saw a temporary heaven
I know it wasn't really but thirteen-year-old eyes
Should be and were opened up that wide

Born in the fifties
Children of the sixties
Now in our fifties
Soon to be sixties
My generation
Still as loud as its soul, yeah
Not ready to die, die, die
Not ready to fold

All the outer sights and sounds that informed me
The window of years that peeled and reformed me
I carried that weight from my twenties to forties
And I don't care too much for the end of the story

Born in the fifties
Children of the sixties
Now in our fifties
Soon to be sixties
My generation
Still as loud as its soul, yeah
Not ready to die, die, die
Not ready to fold

Not ready to die
Not ready to die
Not ready to die (Not ready to die)
Not ready to die (Not ready to die)
Not ready to die (Not ready to die)
Not ready to die (Not ready to die)
Not ready to die (Not ready to die)
Not ready to die (Not ready to die)
Oh, not ready to die
Oh, not ready to die