"I was too old for this when I was too young for this I was too young to quit when I was too old for this. What is the name of this river? What do you call this lake? Is this the same tissue cast on the ground we saw last time we passed this gate? Have we been circling for hours? Is it safe? (Are you afraid? Was this a big mistake? Are you O.K.?) How did it ever get this late? How did it get so late? I’ll pass you the myrtle branch And you’ll sing Donning the lion skin Our job is to begin Making windows where there once were walls We meet to please you To drink wine in secret and not get caught Every man his own vine and fig-tree Make a way out of no-way Deeds of the weak Porta fenestella Black tents under desert stars The universe wants to play In between the bars CHORUS I was too old for this when I was too young for this I was too young to quit when I was too old for this. Every resting place becomes a crossroads Where the oar becomes a winnowing fan Strike sparks in marginal lives The pigeon and the pigpen equally thrive The worm does nothing The fish catches himself Savage runaways and minor guerrillas are scarred The universe wants to reach out from in between the bars CHORUS It’s hard not to remember What was done in your name They’re jumping up and down New men capable of anything Down the stairs into the office A sickening thud A splash and a silence Town clock chimes the quarter-hour. Don’t interrogate your memories, they might spill Make up stories for the cop, change the endings for thrills You know the kind of guy, strong opinions, weak handshake. It’ll take an earthquake to remake this landscape. CHORUS I was too old for this when I was too young for this I was too young to quit when I was too old for this"