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.