A Series of Repetitions

I will be an old man sometime And live in a dive somewhere. I will think of this night some place the rain falling on stone. There will be no one near no whisper on the street, only this song of old longing the plaintive yearning to be young and you together on some street. Now is the time of dark retreat from drugs, desire, dance. This is the last chance. This is not the last chance. I shall be young again. Why, only yesterday I lay drugged on the dark bed through two days, while they came and went as the wind and they shall come again to bear me down into that pit called despair; It is all there, what shall wear me away and drag me into that place there is no returning from. Old age, disaster, doom, It shall be as this room. With you by the sink, pinching your face in a mirror. Time is as a river and I shall forget this night, its joy. You shall disappear down the road and I shall moan your name in the pillow; while candles burn outside in windows of strange houses to mark my fame.