Late New Years Eve, paper hat on your head,
it's hard to believe you'll ever be dead.
But that dream where you're falling you've had since you're five
is a bird on your shoulder who whispers goodbye.
What is moving will be still.
What's been gathered will be dispersed.
What's been built up will collapse.
All Your Dreams Fulfilled.
And on my deathbed I'll get all the answers
even if all my questions are taken away.
If my life was as long as the moon's,
I'd still be jealous of the sun.
If my life lasted only one day,
I'd still be drunk by noon.