Old Man


I'm an old man... a sold man

A made of solid gold man.

And with this shape I cannot craft

A simple humanistic plan.

And with these eyes I cannot see

The colors once alive to me.

Such little touches filled with depth

Such subtleties I've lost to theft.

And with these ears I cannot listen

To soothing falls whose water glistened.

And I forgot to rhyme with me

For I've lost my mind's harmony.

And with these hands I cannot touch

The broken bottles and the such.

Such glory in the pain they filled

This blood that I have long since spilled.

And with this rhyme I cannot kill...

For with this time I've lost my will...

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