In search of what it might still be
a man like me may yet believe
old songs fill the infinite spaces,
old men sing of inexhaustible fires
and unquenchable thirst; desires
they never understood or satisfied
and if we're lucky (maybe damned)
we sing along, not just because we know
the words to songs we started singing
forty years ago, when we still thought
we knew the purpose singing had
or what the songs were all about.
We sing because old music lives within.
We sing because old voices yearn to sing.
