Older

Older Perhaps I'm growing dimmer as I look on middle age Like a song without a melody or a book without a page Like a light bulb burning out inside that candle lighted room Like a used car on a January morning dies too soon No my body doesn't show it but you can see it in my face The lines are growing longer at each checkpoint in this race My paycheck has more digits but the winter wind is colder And I may not be much wiser but I'm sure I'm getting older By the pool there lies a goddess draped in oil and strings today She looks about the shape and size of those I used to play But I'm weary of the hunt nowadays I got no thirst to make the slaughter And anyway she wouldn't play she's young enough to be my daughter The children splash and yell the way I did when I was small When the boogieman was close at hand hiding down the hall Well he disappeared a couple years before I knocked him off my shoulder And I may not be much wiser but I'm sure I'm getting older Well the sky is like a lost love and the clouds are like the rain They block the stolen memories and threaten wind and rain The light touch of the April breeze cools the sweat upon my nose The fountain trickles crystal clear water like a hose That I played with in the driveway when I should have washed the car I wonder why I'm writing Paula and I wonder where you are Her suntan oil is at a boil and it's much too hot to hold her And I may not be much wiser but I'm sure I'm getting older Well tomorrow is an anchor that can tie you to the street When others shed their suit and tie I scratch and crawl my feet The winds of western logic and their factories of despair Are situations locked inside a dream that isn't there Behold the virgin angel as she perches on the roof Alone and tired and partly wired but still aloof I find the things I kept inside were things I should've told her And I may not be much wiser but I'm sure I'm getting older Behold the boxed in boxes The apartment dwellers say I'll live inside a bigger box if I get rich someday I'll make my room look just like something from that magazine It may lack imagination but it's costly chic and clean The masters of the landscape and their wealthy would be pawns They say son this is the nineties you don't need backyards and lawns And I fought these scenes for years but now I've signed that leather folder And I may not be much wiser but I'm sure I'm getting older Well I drive a dirty dented black and silver car around I rarely go for walks my feet don't ever touch the ground I let myself lose sleep each night just to lay there counting cash There's nothing on my mind sometimes no awe inspiring flash I find my lust on television and I read the daily news Hypnotized by talk shows I've got other peoples views If rolling stones could gather moss then my brain would be a bolder And I may not be much wiser but I'm sure I'm getting older Well the morning brings a new refrain a day like none before And if life is so brand new honey tell me then why is it a chore I've smoked ten thousand cigarettes and I've sucked a vat of beer It's hard to breath I can't believe that somehow I'm still here Well there's no excuse for criminals like me who steal their health I lost my true priorities and I found sad sickly wealth The costume jewels that I sold to fools while my cuff links grew much colder Prove that I may not be much wiser but I'm sure I'm getting older Well I go on dates with strange exotic women in their prime They laugh at all my diatribes they never spend a dime They ask me for an answer to their adolescent gloom And they ask me in my kitchen to escort them to my room Well it's there they try to take me down a trail I've used before A teenage boy at midnight when I lost it by the shore They bump and grind until they find me bold and getting bolder And I may not be much wiser but I'm sure I'm getting older Well there's much in what you say They tell me when I'm in the bars You might be peddling comic books but at least they're not used cars And as another year gets added so slowly to the crime I find I value daylight more and fear most wasting time Might be the same old story what will be will always be Well I may not be a child but then again I'm only thirty three Well it's easy to be deep in thought and it's hard to get much colder And I may not be much wiser but I'm sure I'm getting older Oh yes if rolling stones could gather moss then my brain would be a bolder And I may not be much wiser but I'm pretty sure I'm getting older