maybe black or navy
the lights were so dim it was hard to tell
where exactly was i when
Van Halen began to play?
(oh) Greg it's time to ride i thought
i wasn't listening to the Beatles singing
for the 100th time after the murder of John and
the quiet death of George
When I'm 64
but damn if Ravic in Georgia didn't send that sweet link
i just had to give it a spin, pay attention to the lyrics
straight from the Sgt Peppers Lonely Hearts Club Band
song track number, hmm, not sure but i can almost see
wait!! it's old fart land and do i want a clear view?
i can see for miles, but do you feel like i feel?
especially when it's a quarter to three!
it's simple, there are no hordes of cheering admirers
no beautiful woman with puzzled philosophical eyes
removing her cotton bra with a knowing smile,
it's simple, there are no hordes of cheering admirers
no beautiful woman with puzzled philosophical eyes
removing her cotton bra with a knowing smile,
remembering even if i forgot what was important
a teacher (perhaps) and i the attentive student
sharpening my pencil in a hand-cranked gear-tooth driven
little machine many many years after Darius the Great
used this very same machine to conquer his local world
remember, 2, it was Gore Vidal who wrote about him in a great book,
many many years before my recent birthday on the 6th of September
when i turned 64 and there's no turning back and of course
i miss Darius.
who will miss me? once,
when i was fishing underneath a Paris bridge, i saw the padlocks that street lovers
secured to the open fence, hundreds although i never counted, because i
was never good at arithmetic, all meant to secure a relationship.
my fishing buddy in the Seine was Carl Sagan, who hooked me on science.
and even though i never measured the legal limit, i later
joined him on a chair outside of a Monmartre cafe, and mentioned to him
that his painted smile looked like a Starry Night,
like a Van Gogh, i guessed,
and he postulated that a trillion trillion trillion galaxies were in alignment
and those distant stars and others were our friends, smiling or otherwise.
all of my friends are stars, too, i said,
a teacher (perhaps) and i the attentive student
sharpening my pencil in a hand-cranked gear-tooth driven
little machine many many years after Darius the Great
used this very same machine to conquer his local world
remember, 2, it was Gore Vidal who wrote about him in a great book,
many many years before my recent birthday on the 6th of September
when i turned 64 and there's no turning back and of course
i miss Darius.
who will miss me? once,
when i was fishing underneath a Paris bridge, i saw the padlocks that street lovers
secured to the open fence, hundreds although i never counted, because i
was never good at arithmetic, all meant to secure a relationship.
my fishing buddy in the Seine was Carl Sagan, who hooked me on science.
and even though i never measured the legal limit, i later
joined him on a chair outside of a Monmartre cafe, and mentioned to him
that his painted smile looked like a Starry Night,
like a Van Gogh, i guessed,
and he postulated that a trillion trillion trillion galaxies were in alignment
and those distant stars and others were our friends, smiling or otherwise.
all of my friends are stars, too, i said,
remembering their faces and how they soulfully laughed
or cried without embarrassment, regardless of the day.
and we drank to that!
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