2-15-1967

Now forty ain't like fifteen and it's not like twenty-five.
My back's a little stiff and there're some lines around my eyes.
I have still got my energy and i've got most of my hair,
and i'm not too old to rock 'n roll and i'm not really scared of turning forty.

Wasn't it yesterday, I was eight years old. A pocket full of rocks, that I knew were made of solid gold. There were girls to be hated, trees to be climbed, forts to be built, there was so much time.
It's good to be alive.

There's nothing in the world like being fifteen. Your pockets are empty, but your head is full of dreams, of girls to be loved, of places to see. It's the best and the worst, just my friends and me, and we're anything we want to be.
It's good to be alive.

Well I wonder, what this day will see.
Will I find my dreams or stare in the face of tragedy.
Whatever may come, whatever may be, of this I am sure, I'm forgiven and free.
And I will live like I believe.

It's good to be alive.
To feel the wind in my face, see the blue in the sky.
It's days like this I realize, what a gift it is.
It's good to be alive.


Happy Birthday.