When We Are Young When We Are Old

When We Are Young, When We Are Old When we are young, (Or so I'm told) We don't ask what things The future holds We ask no Reason, We ask no Rhyme; We ask if we only Have enough Time To settle Things we've left undone - To prove We're not the only ones Who care where Mankind may be headed now. Who won't Accept the Status Quo - Who Sees The Way We Need To Go (Quietly): Being Young is a State of Mind, You can regain it anytime; Just remember That it's fragile- As elusive As you're agile: You can only Touch it sometimes - Then it's magic; Then Sublime. When you"re old, You feel the cold, You feel the touch Of advancing Time. You stand on the Inside As the Young look in; You think the way They live may be a kind of Sin; We only ask to have enough Voice left, To make some difference, To mend the cleft That keeps on spreading Between the Right and Left. In the End we know it goes To whichever group more clearly shows Its willingness to be what needs to be: We are the First, We are the Last; We are the Present and the Past. We ask you consider our point of view, It matters not to us- It matters to you If you reject our plea, If you ignore our call, This is our final warning, The the end of All; We tried to tell you, Year after year; This was a Thing You needed sore to hear; But you refused to listen; You refused to hear; This is the End Of everything you thought was real; This is the end of what you thought you might feel- The Split between the Right and the all-too Real The Alpha and Omega; Facts we can't conceal. So we point the finger At the reflection of us, Sadly wonder At the erosion of trust Between our Present and our Past The way our feelings Come to be cast By the ways of our time, By dreams in our minds, By hopes in our prime. When we are young, As when we're old, The spirits move us They slowly unfold They make us feel wise, They make us feel strong. They make us believe We can never be wrong. This just isn't so Not for you or me There isn't some rule Some way we must be, In the end it's the searching That matters most; The fire that burns Turns us all to ghosts. The fire that burns, Before we all turn to ghosts.