I was young once, son.

And I lived my life with wine

And I rousted up the devil’s snare

To baste and bide my time.

Yes, son, I’ve seen it all;

Been twisted up and torn

And set upon.

Been ripped apart

And spat upon

And worn.

Yeah man, I’ve greyed my hair;

You see?

No crystal stairs

And silver spoons

And satins strewn about for me.

No doubt.  I’ve walked my miles.

Beguiler and beguiled –

I am.

And I'm a traveled man 

Who's scorched his sands in style.

Yes, I was once young, son.

And I paved your way with gold

And built the bridges long.

And lit your night

And warmed your cold.

And made your journey eased and free.

A silkened path you walk.

And cuddled you

And kept you from the rain. 

I bore the pain for you.

And bore the blood.  

And made your lashings mine.

Hey, man, I’ve marked my time

Under this sun. 

But I’m not done.

And, son,

I once was young.

-- Brownstone

[a tribute to Mr. Hughes]