The Sultans of Swing

The songs that I listen to have grown old
The singers have faded.
But it seems that I do not have the heart for anything new.
Any such wishes are merely an affectation
An attempt to appear less jaded
Than I have become. I am sold
On the idea of decadence. The old queen
Who demanded youth at her gatherings.
But was secretly hoarding even the cobwebs
Of every light and prop and lyric of every scene
Of every old video in a new DVD.
But was secretly singing The Sultans of Swing.