The old man dreams of running as he did when in his youth
Through fields and flowers and wild dance halls with wild girls

When he looks at me
At my able, young yet mostly idle body
He murmurs about the pity that I am
The waste of ability that I am

Well, sir, times are changing, sir

There is television instead of walks
Instead of the good old days

"You see!"
He says (he stretches his legs and lays back down)
"The more that's new
The more you know of being old"