The Sun beats down on my back
But I shiver from the cold
Small in the sea at the track
Of people far younger; I’m old
I would rather be out the front
With the protestors and signs
But it would be insulting, an affront
If the ticket paid for I declined
So I drink too much and run away
To smoke away from the crowd
Of wealth and youth led astray
By bets, in debts they drown