I grow old, I shall wear the bottom of my trousers rolled, says Elliott
I grow old, I shall wear the bottom of my trousers rolled, says Elliott

Days keep growing short, nights too
Let us go then, you and I
And try to unlearn, says Elliott
He seeks for return and burns ancient love letters

Let us go then you and I and lie by marble stone, says Elliott
And put a record on the gramophone
Lie down dear, on the weed
Don't weep dear
Gaily clad

Sadness is a radical quantity, says Elliott
Sadness is a long brown ribbon, says he
Sadness is beautiful

I grow old, I shall wear the bottom of my trousers rolled, says Elliott
I grow old, I shall wear my trousers rolled, says Elliott