Back, back, way back

I used to front like Angkor Wat, Mechanicsburg, Anchorage and Dar es Salaam

While home in New York was champagne and disco

Tapes from LA/San Francisco

But actually Oakland and not Alameda

Your girl was in Berkeley with her communist reader

Mine was entombed within boombox and Walkman

I was a hoarder but girl, that was back then

The gloves are off, the wisdom teeth are out

What you on about?

I feel it in my bones, I feel it in my bones

I’m stronger now, I’m ready for the house

Such a modest mouse

I can’t do it alone, I can’t do it alone

Ancestors told me that their girl was better

She’s richer than Croesus, she’s tougher than leather

I just ignored all the tales of a past life

Stale conversation deserves but a bread knife

And punks who would laugh when they saw us together

Well they didn’t know how to dress for the weather

I can still see them there huddled on Astor

Snow falling slow to the sound of the Master

CHORUS

Wisdom’s a gift but you’d trade it for youth

Age is an honor – it’s still not the truth

We saw the stars when they hid from the world

You cursed the sun when it stepped to your girl

Maybe she’s gone and I can’t resurrect her

The truth is she doesn’t need me to protect her

We know the true death – the true way of all flesh

Everyone’s dying but girl – you’re not old yet

CHORUS