Look Back in Anger

There’s a picture of us all in—

God, I don’t know

The early 70’s?

I think that’s when we were doing Look Back in Anger

And I had my hair done

Like Diana Ross

Jesus, was I on drugs

I can’t even remember what drugs I was on

That’s how many drugs I was on

I remember thinking I was one of those girls

In long flowing dresses

With flowers in my hair

Telling everyone how right I was with the world

It’s so strange to think about

Because I wonder if that girl’s

Still inside me somewhere

I have no stayed the same

That’s either the fortunate

Or the unfortunate thing

I am not…the same

Not at all

For one thing, I used to be eccentric

And now I’m just old

Or older, I guess

And I could tell you I don’t feel old

But I do

I feel it everywhere

And I started feeling it

Before it even showed up

That’s something most old people

Won’t tell you

So there you have it

But this isn’t about me getting old

This is about the acting company

Did it keep me young?

On the contrary

It aged me

Not because it was tedious

But because it wasn’t

Things just flew by

Shows, time

I looked up one day

And the seventies were long gone

And, thankfully, so was the Diana Ross haircut

But so were so many friends

People I admired and liked

They left—either voluntarily

Or because, well, life is life

People just…

I wouldn’t say I’m angry

But I am confused

I’m constantly confused

Why do we celebrate time passing?

It doesn’t feel like something

We should be celebrating

It feels like something we should be mourning

Look at all that time

Just gone

Just completely and utterly gone

Time can never be anything

But lost

That’s the thing

But at least we have the pictures

Where we look silly

And make serious faces

And tell ourselves

‘Oh, we were so young’

When we were never really young

I don’t know what we were

But we weren’t young

Maybe we were just optimistic

And that felt like being young

Or maybe we were stupid

And that felt like being optimistic

Whatever we were, it didn’t last

But it’s still a nice picture

Long after we’re gone

Somebody will still have the pictures

And they’ll say—

‘Who are all these people?’

These forgotten people

Immortality—ha.

It’s nice in theory

But there are some things

Even a picture

Can’t do