I like to think that this song is about the struggle to keep an . Obviously, I know that Paul Simon isn’t referring to a car that can’t run: to some shitbox destined for the crusher because the only appropriate description left is “.”

In this version of , Paul Simon describes what it feels like to get old. And getting old, as our might know, is far from being a uniquely human trait. This song was originally released as the second track from Simon’s eighth studio album, . The album was released in 1990, and at the time, Simon was a spry 50-years old.

This is from the more recent album , released in 2018 — a full 28 years after Simon first recorded the track. Meaning Simon was 77-years old when Blue Light came out. That’s a lot of miles!

The album is a short collection of previously-released songs, reworked and accompanied by a new set of musicians, which sometimes gives the songs a different character. At other times, it expresses their character much more honestly — hindsight being 20/20.

It’s only fitting, then, that the cover of I is a portrait of the same man fixed in different places of the foreground and background. The man closer to us is a blur: he’s hardly intelligible, just barely taking shape. The man behind him is in focus, but is nonetheless obscured. It’s a neat visual expression of the album’s conceit.

This version of “Can’t Run, But” was arranged by Bryce Dressner from . In it, Simon sounds older, sounds tired. His voice is still undoubtedly that of Paul Simon, but it’s different. It’s laden with time. Which is why it’s such a surprise just how much the track rocks! The strings and flute give it a sort of bounce, a high-pitched skipping that clearly says, “I’m not as fast as I once was, but I am still alive.” And I think that’s the least many of us want for our dailies.