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lyrics: J. Morse © 1985 A veteran warrior closes his eye Hands in his pockets, finds them dry Eyes the newcomer, heaving a sigh Locks on to his target, preparing to fly "No," says his conscience "Conquer your own, take what's expected of you" "No," he says smiling Lifting his arm, preparing to vanquish the new And though times, they're changing It's certainly true That old can defeat novel But that's just your own point of view An eminent scholar, casting a glance At nouveau riche dilletantes living in France Dreaming up some movements to make a new dance Contorting themselves past all limits of chance "So," says he, wondering "Things on the change, waltz no more, not true" "No," says his conscience "Can-can you see?" Old disconnected by new And times, they keep on changing It's confusing to you That new ways can be winning Over your entrenched point of view "What?" you ask, smiling "Better? Old times? I don't think that it's true" "No," as you wonder Back to the past what could've happened to you And history, it still wavers From the old to the new And back again, all depending Upon your point of view |