I grow old I shall wear the bottom
Of my trousers rolled says Elliot
I grow old I shall wear the bottom
Of my trousers rolled says Elliot
Days keep growing short, nights too
Let us go then, you and I
And try to unlearn, says Elliot
He seeks for return and burns ancient love letters
Let us go then you and I and lie
By marble stone says Elliot
And put a record on the gramophone
Lie down dear
On the weed
Don't weep dear
Gayly clad
Sadness is a radical quantity says Elliot
Sadness is a long round ribbon, says he
Sadness is beautiful
I grow old I shall wear the bottom
Of my trousers rolled says Elliot
I grow old I shall wear
My trousers rolled says Elliot