It isn’t, Kermit.
It isn’t the same. 
Oh, I know you repeat it, as David Byrne repeated it,  
and it’s we’re so pleased to see you, in your white suit with your big shoulder pads, 
backed once again by the Electric Mayhem, 
that we want to believe that it is the same. 
But we hear you ask how you got here, 
we hear you ask what have you done, 
and maybe it’s your appeal to God, 
maybe it’s the vision of the water flowing, 
maybe it’s knowing that it can’t be Jim’s voice we’re hearing, 
even as we so want to hear Jim’s voice… 
Maybe that’s why we’re forced to think 
about where we find ourselves. 
Because you have given us permission to. 
We can’t help but think of our houses and wives (beautiful or otherwise) 
And all the questions we’ve asked ourselves 
And all those highways unexplored 
And all those things that aren’t the same 
Because they can’t be. 
Because that water has flowed so far underground. 
And, much as we laugh, because we still do, Kermit, we still do, 
If you were there when we were children, 
And we see you here now, 
We know it can’t be the same. 
As it ever was. 
Or otherwise.