I grow old, I shall wear the bottom of my trousers rolled, says Eliot
I grow old, I shall wear the bottom of my trousers rolled, says Eliot
Days keep growing short, nights too
Let us go then, you and I
And try to unlearn, says Eliot
He seeks for return and burns ancient love letters
Let us go then you and I and lie by marble stone, says Eliot
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 Eliot
Sadness is a long brown ribbon, says he
Sadness is beautiful
I grow old, I shall wear the bottom of my trousers rolled, says Eliot
I grow old, I shall wear my trousers rolled, says Eliot
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