Looking out at the road rushing under my wheels. Looking back at the years gone by like so many summer fields. '65, I was 17 and running up 101. I do… - Jackson Browne

And their feathers once so fine grew torn and tattered
And in the end they traded their tired wings
For the resignation that living brings.

Are you there?
Say a prayer for the Pretender. Who started out so young and strong
Only to surrender.

Looking through some photographs I found inside a drawer,
I was taken by a photograph of you.
There were one or two I know
That you would have liked a little more,
But they didn't show your spirit quite as true.
You were turning round to see who was behind you
And I took your childish laughter by surprise,
And at the moment that my camera happened to find you
There was just a trace of sorrow in your eyes.