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You Talk Of Going But Don't Even Have A Suitcase (A Series of Repetitions)

I will be an old man sometime And live in a dark room somewhere. I will think of this night someplace the rain falling on stone. There will be no one near no whisper on the street only this song of old yearning and the longing to be young with you together on some street. Now is the time for retreat, This is the last chance. This is not the last chance. Why only yesterday I lay drugged on the dark bed while they came and went as the wind and they shall come again to bear me down into that pit there is no returning from. Old age, disaster, doom. It shall be as this room. With you by the sink, pinching your face in the 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 our fame.