We're just recycled history machines, cavemen in faded blue jeans.
Pickup's washed and you just got paid, with any luck at all you might even get laid.
Where it all ends I can't fathom, my friends. If I knew, I might toss out my anchor.
Mirror that lies, mirror that lies, that can't be me in the gorilla disguise.
Why don't we get drunk and screw?
At 57, to have a No. 1 album, I wasn't expecting it.