Growing

What kills Are the thrills seem to have gone Like my ever decreasing youth I failed to use The gift I abused Thinking I was my God I was entitled My very own referee Bingo Caller inches taller Over all and sundry But retracing my track's My receipt's don't cover my taxes Refunding pearl's in plundered shell's Warranties have expired Upon an ocean floor beside bald tyres And discarded plastic bag's On fish to snag For 1 final thrill Like growing up I would kill Glancing beyond a windowsill Where The rain still dances upon the fresh cut grass I can no longer smell or even tell cares For the fresh air or sun Bored as I of perpetual cutting and growing Never knowing if anything else will ever take place Or replace the 1st time feeling Alive Feeling Anything but Hollow