My life is like the quiet old nursing home I pass by on my way
With the ambulance on standby each and every day
For death is the only thing that could possibly be eventful
The stale stagnated and repetition
There is no growth here, only decay
I’m merely waiting for death in this old town of mine
Where your goals and dreams may be abandoned haphazardly
Left faded and forgotten in the mind
Drinking and drugging as the sick
Deciphering our dementia
Are old tricks and cheap kicks
As a person I cease to grow
And my soul atrophies, though
I have no need to be a somebody
But I will not condemn myself so early
To living the life of a nobody
So I continue to walk on
In a solace song
The cold branches left upon the yellowed grass
Tight and only capable of snapping
How can I go from life’s stick to sapling?
I’d rather be a palm tree dancing in the wind
Yes above a playground that my life should be
No more bronzed heads of people in my history
Just smiling strangers
On my swing, my slide
Then off into the world gone by
I used to feed ducks as a child
Now I feed debts
Big nasty swans that I could avoid then
Surround me now
These trees I once climbed for fun
I now scale to get away
When your joys become necessities
You’re dieing.
