An Adaptation of the Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock

Let us go then, you and I

When the evening is spread out across the sky

Like a patient etherized upon a table

That leads you through an overwhelming question

Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels

And sawdust restaurants with oyster shells

Streets that follow like a very tedious argument

Of insidious intent

I grow old, I grow old

I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled

I grow old, I grow old

I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled

The yellow fog that smokes its back upon the window panes

The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window panes

Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening

Let fall upon its back the soot falls from chimneys

And there will be, indeed a time

A time for all the works and days of hands

And a time yet for a hundred indecisions

And for a million visions and revisions

And there will be time to wonder, do I dare

Time to turn back and descend the stairs

For I have known them all already, known them all

Evenings, mornings, afternoons

I grow old, I grow old

I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled

I grow old, I grow old

I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled