I'm getting old the older I get. Nothing is new to me anymore. Im bored with the borders ordering me to bury my brothers down to the bone.
Hey, "little buddy", nice talking sense into you.
It makes no sense to me or so I am told. I'm old. So old. They say that bad apples make good examples of how to fall too fast from trees in our past. Still glowing on the ground they rot and they grow mold.
Hey, "little buddy", talk sense into me. Take all this for granted and grant me this wish - don't plant my seed.
We are ghosts in a sense... innocent and unseen... making most of scenery... soon to change... and so should we.
We grow up. We know not what we do to deserve this. What we do to just exist hoping this is over soon so we can all go home, pack and prepare ourselves for waiting it out without a right.
We are veterans. We are amateurs. We're worlds apart.
We are not as smart as we think we are.