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
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