We’re a couple of too old young men
Who keep going back, again and again
Calling each other on the phone
Time’s passed, neither leave it alone
Caught in dark delusions
Fears fed by nightmarish illusions
Our memories explode
Upon those desert roads
Telephonic recollections
Disharmonic introspections
Our Hysterical ramblings
On the historical trampling
Of an Arab nation
In an empirical aggregation,
Of power and petroleum
And a dream that we sold ’em
With the butt of a gun
‘Neath their hot desert sun
Just a couple of too old young men
Who keep going back, again and again
— Stephen Handlin
