Tekster: Crosby, Stills, Nash And Young. Other. My Back Pages.

Crimson flames tied through my ears, throwing high and mighty traps
Countless fire and flaming road, using ideas as my maps.
"We'll meet on edges, soon," said I, proud a?˜neath heated brow.
Ah, but I was so much older then, I'm younger than that now.

Half-wracked prejudice leaped forth, "Rip down all hate," I screamed.
Lies that life is black and white spoke from my skull, I dreamed.
Romantic flanks of musketeers, foundation deep, somehow.
Ah, but I was so much older then, I'm younger than that now.

In a soldier's stance, I aimed my hand at the mongrel dogs who teach,
fearing not I'd become my enemy in the instant that I preach.
My pathway led by confusion boats, mutiny from stern to bow.
Ah, but I was so much older then, I'm younger than that now.

My guard stood hard when abstract threats, too noble to neglect,
deceived me into thinking I had something to protect.
Good and bad, I define these terms, quite clear, no doubt, somehow.
Ah, but I was so much older then, I'm younger than that now.