| I remember what it felt like at seventeen:
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| I was a cat, a snake, a lizard, a mouse…
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| Still got an interest in the limousine
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| And a spouse and a brat
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| Country house, London flat
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| I’m gonna head for the island when the summer’s out
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| I’m gonna do all the stuff that I can
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| Drink like a fish in a waterspout —
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| I’m a fan of the flow
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| It began long ago
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| I’m a man who should know
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| It doesn’t stop
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| There’s so much to remember
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| So much to forget:
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| We’re all in the possession of the future tense
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| But don’t know it yet
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| The flesh comes through the spirit
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| The spirit through the flesh…
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| We look the Sphinx in the face for answers
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| And, of course, we’re really not impressed
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| We’re caught between age and beauty
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| Experience and youth
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| So we feel the need acutely
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| For any kind of Truth
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| Oh, but we get copped some days
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| Caught between options we’ve failed to play
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| Such wasted chance
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| So I join the wastrel’s dance:
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| It has slow as well as fast movements
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| And any change must be an improvement
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| On simply fossilizing, standing still
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| I got a steady vocation for the Quiet Zone
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| I just can’t wait for the song to be sung
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| I’m still possessed by the promise of the Pleasure Dome
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| You’re so young
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| So old, such a drag to be told
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| Youre so here, so gone
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| So near, so wrong, so queer, so strong, so…
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| Such a drag to be told… |