I am young and immortal, br Or think myself so, br Which comes to the same in the end. br I am old and talk softly in corners br Of when beer was a penny a pint. br A birth for a death is the deal. br Or a death for a birth. Either way. br br We are innocent transients you and I, br For all our calculation. The why? br That yesterday seemed troubled by deceit br Now appears as our confusion, a retreat br To sheltering indignation.