Sitting in my room in my bro by another mas digs deep in blue colour Afrikanerdom. Where the busy Spar has an old time flavour of small town SA where long conversations are conducted with total strangers in the queues. Sort of the same as at the little shopping centre in the deep South of Jozi at Henley on Klip. So size doesnt really matter. People do. Sitting listening to the Tull of ole Ian and yhe lads. This one might ring a bell or open the door to an interesting adventure. Who knows? Too Old To Rock n Roll: Too Young To Die The old Rocker wore his hair too long, wore his trouser cuffs too tight. Unfashionable to the end --- drank his ale too light. Deaths head belt buckle --- yesterdays dreams --- the transport caf prophet of doom. Ringing no change in his double-sewn seams in his post-war-babe gloom. Now hes too old to RocknRoll but hes too young to die. He once owned a Harley Davidson and a Triumph Bonneville. Counted his friends in burned-out spark plugs and prays that he always will. But hes the last of the blue blood greaser boys all of his mates are doing time: married with three kids up by the ring road sold their souls straight down the line. And some of them own little sports cars and meet at the tennis club dos. For drinks on a Sunday --- work on Monday. Theyve thrown away their blue suede shoes. Now theyre too old to RocknRoll and theyre too young to die. So the old Rocker gets out his bike to make a ton before he takes his leave. Up on the A1 by Scotch Corner just like it used to be. And as he flies --- tears in his eyes --- his wind-whipped words echo the final take and he hits the trunk road doing around 120 with no room left to brake. And he was too old to RocknRoll but he was too young to die. No, youre never too old to RocknRoll if youre too young to die.
Posted on: Sat, 22 Nov 2014 20:39:50 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015