Imaginary life
looking through the eyes of a grey head
a wrinkled sheet, on an old mans bed.
His line heavy with cotton
with old stains from spills long forgotten.
The sun's on his bold
as he folds his whites and blues
Oblivious maybe that his time is near
it may just come soon.
The young and their fiery calm
with their carefree ways.
Limber and wild, with black stories of piercing alarms
and rants and raves, with purging for days.
For you my darlings its never too late
So tie me up and let me come too
past other tragedies and into sudden age
we'll stand face to face with the moon!
Oblivious that our time is now near
it might just come too soon
