Some words can bend
The metal of one's soul.
One word is like the whip
Which cracks and slashes it message
So deeply into a bare bent back.
Tra-di-tion. Tra-di-tion.
The word and whip press deep
The pain of might, not right.
The accepted way.
The traditional path
To fame and fortune,
To education and success.
Tradition dictates no less the whip.
Step lively, mate!
The tongue strikes swift and deep
On those who miss a beat.
Times have changed!
The plea for mercy
Screams to no avail.
Work harder!
Be a traditional male!
A star in school
With letters, grades
And, at least, vice-president.
On, march on in step, in time.
College. Career. Marriage. House.
Tradition. Tradition. Tradition.
Why so much? Why so much?
I love the past.
I revel in the deeds
Of those before.
Their marks are clear
For much of the journey here.
We scout a new horizon
To build upon the past.
We envision a new tradition
Where the feet of men
And women tread softly
Amid the relics of the past.
Where the minds of all beings
Work diligently on the problems of today.
Where the hearts of one and all
Reach valiantly toward the future
And well-being of all mankind.
Tradition can help,
Rather than hurt
When tempered by
The Master's touch.
