Time for the final bout. Rows of deserted houses: all our stable mates are highway bound.   Give us our measly sum: getting the air inside my lungs is heavenly.       We're starting out with nothing but crippling doubt.    We'll rest easy (justified)       I've suffered a swift defeat. I'll endure countless repeats.    The gift of memory is an awful curse,    with age it just gets much worse.       But I won't mind.