A young boy aged too soon
Smoking by a distant half-dipped moon
In a crystal mirror lake
Struggling to stay awake.
An old man that’s yet to grow
Is willingly embracing the cold
On a bench he now calls home
Carves his hopes in dimes and smoke.
As the sun is going down
So do the poor kid’s lungs collapse
Breathing out the smoke of life
The old one fakes his final smiles.
Dawn is here but dusk is near
Pluck is hope and hope is fear
Young is old and old is young
There’s no end and there’s no start.
