When I reflect I find I'm old,
With time about to pass me by . . .
But I've more tales that must be told.

No longer brash and far from bold,
Now more a drone than butterfly . . .
When I reflect I find I'm old.

Abandoned is my quest for gold,
The well at last is running dry . . .
But I've more tales that must be told.

What once I bought is now not sold,
What then was truth is now a lie . . .
When I reflect I find I'm old.

The heat of youth has turned to cold,
My sometime song is just a sigh . . .
But I've more tales that must be told.

My epitaph's not yet inscrolled,
I still can laugh . . . I will not cry . . .
When I reflect I find I'm old . . .
But I've more tales that must be told.

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