THE END OF THE REBEL

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I have a story I must tell
To all the youth we wish to rebel.
Remember the one, too young to die,
If you think it's fun to get high.

My son is dead : I wonder why
He had to be so young to die.
Why rebel, leave home and me?
Was it because I condemn his hair?

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Why the drugs, the LSD?
Did he believe I did not care?
Maybe the love in my heart, so true,
Somehow failed to shine through?

He left home just eighteen.
Went in his own; joined the Hippie scene.
Lived the life that the Hippies led.
Now, at twenty one, the rebel's dead.

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The rebel was very much alive
Aboard train number one fifty five,
Till he and his girl took LSD
For him, both trips ended fatally.

Somehow he managed to take a dive
Off of train number one fifty five:
Was he pushed ; did he jump, or fall?
Only our good Lord knows all.

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Maybe the Lord forgave and set him free
From the life he'd lived and its misery.
And for all youth to note, and see,
Just what the end of a rebel might be.

Please heed this warning that good Lord sent,
Don't go the way this rebel went.
Or do the things that he did wrong.
Stay at home, where you belong.

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Believe me, your parents really care,
The love you seek is really there.
Maybe not always a shinning glow,
But it's there, believe me, I know.