Our days are numbered, every last one of them, and the only thing we know for sure is that one of them will be the last. Between Now and that indefinable (but final) Then, I’d hoped to have developed a different voice: still recognizably my own, but imbued with the sort of off-hand eloquence one supposedly develops after coming to grips with The End.
Which, it turns out, means that I wish I’d written this song, but Gordon Lightfoot got to it first:
It was 1974. I was just turning twenty-one, and I fancied myself world-weary. How much I had yet to learn.
(Track six on the Sundown album, if you’re looking.)