Our professors scolded us,
the spoon fed generation
We needed to speak out,
question everything,
carve new paths through
the streets of the city
So we did and the police
sprayed us with tear gas,
broke our heads with nightsticks
We smashed windows and set fires,
slept under trees in the park,
went to jail or Canada
Some returned in body bags
from Vietnam
When we were finished
ten years had gone by
and we only had degrees
in protesting the system
We asked our professors
what kind of deal was that?
They got angry, slammed
their office doors in our faces
and called security
After all, they had families to support
and reputations to protect
Go quietly, they said,
and keep your wise ass comments
to yourself