The Sphinx in the Face

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