It is the evening of the day.......

This here is a re-write.  Nowadays, hells bells, ya never know.  Could be AI.  Could be completely fictional. Could be 'bleat'... Huh?  Yeah, just written to git ur dayum goat.  I say I say, it's a re-write, which of course, means I stole it, added some, subtracted a lot, just rearranged it a tad. OK, fine, call it plagiarism if  ya want.  Ya seen the car I drive?  I love my car, it just happens to be a 2002 Buick Century, this, or, that is, I hopes that shows I ain't getting rich here.  Gracias.

1965.  Manager Andrew Oldham locked Mick Jagger and Keith Richards in the kitchen of their Wilesden flat. (For you bloody 'mericans, that is an apartment), told 'em to write. "Not another blues song, not a copy of a favorite, something new."

Money.  All about money.  Ain't everything? (Almost).  The Stones were the equivalent of the #3 hitter in the batting line up..  Oh, great contact, important, smack the ball with frequency - but, the cleanup hitter, the one everyone revered, bowed to, was clearly The Beatles.

The Beatles had a tad of everything.  Influence, cultural phenomenon, new/changed popular music - AND, they wrote their own $tuff.  Oldham (pay attention here, he's the Stones manager) recognized, the Beatles not only got buckaroos for good tunes played, they capitalized on the publishing royalties songwriters receive.  So...

He locked 'em in that flat. "Write" he'd said... and, "ya ain't gettin' outta this flat until you've written a song, again, no blues, no copies." That was a foreign language for Mick, Keith.  Keith reacted with "Write?  Who do you think I am, Mr. Bigstuff?"... no, hold on damnit, that wasn't it.  "Write?  Who do you think I am? John Lennon? That's somebody else's job, my job is to play the guitar."

So............. years, and years later, with complaints from neighbors about the stinch, authorities busted down the door, found Mick stiff, flat on the ground next to torn up 8 and a half by 11's (he'd expired after many attempts to write, never could Get No Satisfaction). Meanwhile, Keith was fine, now 107 years old.

OK, sorry.  Funnin.  I can't sing and I can't write, but is it OK to fun?

They finally emerged with the lyrics to the song "As Tears Go By".  Keith wasn't a fan, called it 'tripe'.  Sir Mick said "It's a very melancholy song for a 21-year old to write. The evening of the day, watching children play - it's very dumb and naive, but it's got a very sad sort of thing about it, almost like an older person might write."

It is the evening of the day
I sit and watch the children play
Smiling faces I can see
But not for me
I sit and watch
As tears go by

Boy howdy Mick, I so agree.  No, not with the 'very dumb and naive', but about the 'as if an old person wrote it.'  I don't speak for everyone (but, if I did, 47'd be gone, SORRY, kinda, not).. I don't speak for all old farts, but i think the majority of us, the lyrics are assuredly timely today.

My riches can't buy everything
I want to hear the children sing
All I hear is the sound
Of rain falling on the ground
I sit and watch
As tears go by

Life's kinda an oxymoron ain't it?  Awfully good...  bittersweet..  definite maybe..  eloquent silence... festive tranquility... icy hot...  loud whisper... melancholy merriment.. sad smile...

It is the evening of the day
I sit and watch the children play
Smiling faces I can see
But not for me
I sit and watch
As tears go by

ANY age is a good age, but... I get it.  Happy sad.  We see a reflection of our life in children... Victor, that was deep. I know, sometimes I get sappy. Sorry, slipped.  Life today finds us without handsprings, cartwheels and do-overs - yet, surrounded by a richness of memory, more happy than stressy moments.. still, occasionally tears go by.

Victor, "Big Boys don't cry".  NO dangit, Frankie Valli said "Big GIRLS, they don't cry."  Song for another day.  I ain't afeared to admit, I occasionallly tear up.  Some happy, some sad.  We're mid drought, so whichever, helps.

There is perhaps a touch of irony it was decided "As Tears Go By" would go on the B-side of a 45.  The other side?

19th Nervous Breakdown.

Long(er) live Keith... Mick too.

Love, Victurd

(If ya wanna go back in time, call Doc Brown. No, whoops, sorry. Copy, paste the below to see the youngster Mick, 21 I believe, and Keith, 57 I think he was.)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=37_J7zpD2ks