I won't repeat The same mistake My parents made
Soon I will be gone From here and this small town will Be in the rearview
The oddest assortment Ends up in a child's treasure box There is no rhyme or reason to us
Pretty young thing reminiscence.
Our sparkling youth celebrate.
The whiskey burns going down And my eyes water As I hold back a cough Trying to appear unaffected By the taste Like a child playing adult -Kel Dayheart
Salt and pepper Seasons his hair As the seasons Pass him by -Kel Dayheart
We have to grow up But do we have to Grow boring too -Kel Dayheart
We are the poisoned youth Growing up on lies To poison the next generation with -Kel Dayheart
Growing to the point Where you no longer Keep tally of just what Your age is now So different than childhood Where we could say Our age in days -Kel Dayheart