[Intro]
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(Child)
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[Verse 1]
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Lather was thirty years old today
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They took away all of his toys
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His mother sent newspaper clippings to him
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About his old friends whod stopped being boys (Paper dolls)
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There was Howard C. Green, just turned thirty-three
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His leather chair waits at the bank
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And Sergeant Dow Jones, twenty-seven years old
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Commanding his very own tank
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But Lather still finds it a nice thing to do
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To lie about nude in the sand
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Drawing pictures of mountains
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That look like bumps and thrashing the air with his hands
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[Bridge]
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But wait, oh Lathers productive, you know
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He produces the finest of sound
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Putting drumsticks on either side of his nose
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Snorting the best licks in town
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But thats all over
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(Child)
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[Verse 2]
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Lather was thirty years old today
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And Lather came foam from his tongue
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He looked at me, eyes wide, and plainly say
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“Is it true that Im no longer young?” (Mommy?)
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And the children call him famous
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What the old men call insane
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And sometimes hes so nameless
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That he hardly knows what game to play
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(Anyone for tennis? Backgammon? Hari kari?)
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Which words to say?
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And I should have told him
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“No, youre not old”
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And I should have let him go on
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Smiling baby-wide
