Porta Fenestella

I was too old for this when I was too young for this
I was too young to quit when I was too old for this

What is the name of this river?
What do you call this lake?
Is this the same tissue cast on the ground we saw last time we passed this gate?
Have we been circling for hours?
Is it safe? (Are you afraid? Was this a big mistake? Are you O.K.?)
How did it ever get this late?
How did it get so late?

I’ll pass you the myrtle branch
And you’ll sing
Donning the lion skin
Our job is to begin
Making windows where there once were walls
We meet to please you
To drink wine in secret and not get caught
Every man his own vine and fig-tree
Make a way out of no-way
Deeds of the weak
Porta fenestella
Black tents under desert stars
The universe wants to play
In between the bars

CHORUS

I was too old for this when I was too young for this
I was too young to quit when I was too old for this

Every resting place becomes a crossroads
Where the oar becomes a winnowing fan
Strike sparks in marginal lives
The pigeon and the pigpen equally thrive
The worm does nothing
The fish catches himself
Savage runaways and minor guerrillas are scarred
The universe wants to reach out from in between the bars

CHORUS

It’s hard not to remember
What was done in your name
They’re jumping up and down
New men capable of anything
Down the stairs into the office
A sickening thud
A splash and a silence
Town clock chimes the quarter-hour

Don’t interrogate your memories, they might spill
Make up stories for the cop, change the endings for thrills
You know the kind of guy, strong opinions, weak handshake
It’ll take an earthquake to remake this landscape

CHORUS

I was too old for this when I was too young for this
I was too young to quit when I was too old for this