Come mothers and fathers throughout the land; And don't criticize what you can't understand; Your sons and your daughters are beyond your command; Your old road is rapidly agin'; Please get out of the new one if you can't lend your hand; For the times they are a-changin';
Come you masters of war; You that build all the guns; You that build the death planes; You that build the big bombs; You that hide behind walls; You that hide behind desks; I just want you to know I can see through your masks.
Don't be too harsh to these poems until they're typed. I always think typescript lends some sort of certainty: at least, if the things are bad then, they appear to be bad with conviction.
__Dylan Thomas, letter to Vernon Watkins, March 1938