The Anarchist Cookbook

I’m a peaceful man but I once played with fire and death

I drew the diagrams and I laid out the steps

Blame my adolescence

Unaware of influence

Taught the yippie youth how to protest

We’d gathered at grand central station celebrating spring

Hands of time were taken so the violent cops stepped in

Teenagers and press were beaten

End the gentle demonstration

I channeled out my rage through page and pen

There was ink on my fingers

And blood on my hands

Wish it was fiction

Wish it was banned

Every chapter there for all to read

Ingredients to make the wild world bleed

I’m not guilty but I’m to blame

It makes my shoulders slope in shame

They stirred in chaos they turned up the heat

You’ll find me in the Pyrenees or a classroom in Hong Kong

Happiest not fitting in - stick out like a sore thumb

Oblivious and ignorant

to all connected incidents

Remorseful for the things I could have done