So I mourn the loss of my innocence and my youth. Artie went up to Harlem and brought back Billie. For a little while. My pal, Ed, always insisted that youth has no concept of mortality. I never knew what he was talking about. I was young.
Now those chords from Meet The Beatles make me cry. There was a time that the sound caused the hair on my arms to stand up. Mostly just a lump in my throat nowadays.
Heroes disappear on a regular basis. Memories fade and twist. Cling to love, pal. That's all there is.