Spark of Youth Long Gone

Two days ago, I decided To realise Some cherished memories Of my beloved little pueblo; So I drank about five glasses Of Monteviejo In preparation for The rediscovery of The town of my heart. Firstly, I sat in the bar Where I used to meet All my friends, And was assaulted By the prices of the drinks And the volume of the music. I searched the place With my eyes For the innocence and laughter Of yesteryear, but in vain. The young people are forced Into tight little groups, So atmosphere Is ponderous and alienating. Where is the fun? The wild and foolish socialising? The comic local music? All gone. I could cry. Oh, these nerves, this living death. I am so full of fear, Lethargy and fury, I can hardly function. There's a lack of innocence Of simplicity And is this change From deep within me? The freedom, The spark of youth Is gone, Or have I merely lost it? Sophistication spoils, The city ravages, Senses refined By knowledge and wine. (Based on an unfinished story written either in the late '70s or early '80s, in the spirit of the would-be "tortured artist", absurd, melodramatic.)