Yesterday, when I was young, the taste of life was sweet as rain upon my tongue. I teased at life as if it were a foolish game. The way the evening breeze may tease a candle flame. The thousand dreams I dreamed, the splendid things I planned, I always built alas on weak and shifting sand. I live by night and shun the naked light of day, and only now I see how the years ran away. Yesterday, when I was young, so many happy songs were waiting to be sung. So many wayward pleasures lay in store for me, and so much pain my dazzled eyes refused to see. I ran so fast in time, and youth at last ran out. I never stopped to think what life was all about, and every conversation I can now recall concerned itself with me and nothing else at all. Yesterday, the moon was blue, and every crazy day brought something new to do. I used my magic age as if it were a wand, and never saw the waste and emptiness beyond. The game of love I played with arrogance and pride, and every flame I lit too quickly, quickly died. The friends I made all seem somehow to drift away, and only I am left on stage to end the play. There are so many songs in me that won't be sung. I feel the bitter taste of tears upon my tongue. The time has come for me to pay for yesterday, when I was young.