Lament

I've settled for settlement, I've settled for ease. I've settled for slippers, and shooting the breeze. I've settled for quiet, not rocking the boat. I've settled for scarves, and a sensible coat. I've settled for normal, and walking the dog, but not going out in the rain, or the fog. When did it happen? How does it work? Where's that idealist? That thrusting, Young Turk? When did the light go out in his eyes and radical rhetoric turn to sighs? When did he settle for second best? When was there nothing to get off his chest? I used to do, but no longer can, I am the epitome of a grumpy old man.