I Know What It is To Be Young

I Know What It is To Be Young / Orson Welles

When we are young age has no meaning
I never gave it a second thought
until one day along came this old man
and this is what he said to me
and this is what he said to me

I know what it is to be young
but you,you don’t know what it is to be old
someday, you’ll be saying the same thing
time takes away so the story is told

I’ve asked so many questions
to the wise men i’ve met
couldn’t find all the answers
no one has as yet.
There’ll be days to remember
full of laughter and tears
after summer, comes winter and so go the years
So my friend..
lets make music together
I’ll play the old while you sing me the new
In time when your young days are over
there’ll be some one sharing their time with you

I know what it is to be young
but you,you don’t know what it is to be old

So my friend..
lets make music together
I’ll play the old while you sing me the new
In time when your young days are over
there’ll be some one sharing their time with you

there’ll be some one sharing their time with you

Within the Alamo

Within the Alamo

He drew a straight line
Across the dirt floor:
Within, it was death-still–
Without, was a roar
And a scream of the trumpets:
Within, was a Word–
And a line drawn clean
By the sweep of a sword.
No help was coming, now–
That hope was done.
No more the free air,
no more the sun
Bright on the blue leagues
Of buffalo-clover.
Travis drew a line
And they all crossed over.
Travis had a wife at home,
Travis was young;
Travis had a little boy
Whose tight arms clung,
But Travis saw a far light
Shining before:
Travis drew a sword-cut
Across the dirt floor.

And now the old fort stands
Placid and dim,
Blinking and dreaming
Of them and of him;
And now past the Plaza
Other tides roar,
since Travis wrote “Valor”
Across the sand floor,
And the guns they will rust,
And the captains will go,
And an end come at last
To the wars that we know,
But as long as there travails
A Spirit in man,
In a war that was ancient
Before Time began,
Here will the brave come
To read a high Word–
Cut clean in the dust
By the stroke of a sword.