We were so young and beautiful.
Baby fat, outward shine to my skin.
Belies my suicidal sadness and madness.
Inexperienced.
Sang of being old, passage of time,
Imagining it quick.
A rocking chair at age of 27,
Looking into a mirror, age 16,
Infinity seemed possible, though melancholic.
Some of my best mates dead,
Victims of broken hearts, Inebriation.
I’m sad looking back in dust,
Looking at the Earth perversely feeding upon itself to sustain the mass of plebeians.
All physical knowledge, the books stored on an ephemeral cloud,
Willingly given, we’ll find them disappeared.
Didn’t even need to burn them.
All songs on paper that I have, I will hoard.
The meaning of the songs we sang as youth, their well spoken beauty we shared..
I will sing to try and relive them, us.. in those moments..however crudely
to feel young… to feel you
in Nostalgia.