I grow old…I grow old…
That rough beast’s hour is foretold.
Shall I take up falconry? Do I dare the goshawk’s screech?
I shall wear thick leather gloves and walk along the beach
I have seen the falcon’s gyre widen out of reach
I do not think mine will return to me.
I grow old…I grow old…
That rough beast’s hour is foretold.
Shall I take up falconry? Do I dare the goshawk’s screech?
I shall wear thick leather gloves and walk along the beach
I have seen the falcon’s gyre widen out of reach
I do not think mine will return to me.