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When They Were Young
It’s too late, lock out the patrons Stumbling down our crowded staircase.Look at that guy dressed to the ninesHe’s failed today, it’s painted on his face.Past that face stands a young professional Man with his girl propped up against the wallPlanning to make this their great nightAnd polish off a glass of red wine.Oh my god is this how we spend itWe could expire. It’s life so defend it.Are we too late, are we too late.I wouldn’t know I’m quite ok.Lonesome gaze extends from a pair ofWell crafted eyes belonging to a girl thatNever looked back since she was burnedBy a lad who never fully maturedShe observes a tall slender girl with a Man on each arm, caught in a corner Wondering which guy should come homeThey both can’t wait.I wait and watch as people segregate themselves apart from allThe ones that gave them a bad complex when they were young.
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