Prose

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What We Think

written by: QuasiLiterate

We think we can find whatever we want,
Whenever we want, and some of us can,
But for me and the rest of my friends, it's not working.
Get your prerogatives straight, you won't be young forever.
You'd only wish you could go back on a year's gone.
And find the one you used to know, two summers below.
Let your window open and enter that feeling you once had.
Wishing to see him standing beneath your sill, such a thrill.
Don't bank your future on an empty heart though, I should know.
These years are as distant as the friends you could've had.
Staggering in the dark, trying to find you an escort to the promise land.
These streets are all too familiar; two times a year it's your homecoming.
And the party that receives your crash and burns has long moved on.
That's past me beyond, and too long ago, I should know.
I'll write a song before you figure your problems true.
I'd play 'til my fingers bleed to get it through.
I'll give up this guitar if it no longer talks to me, or you.
I'll pack myself and the magician tricks into my bag; the magic's lost.
And I'll be a small figure before the sun that sets on our final night.
The ghosts of regret will eat away a mind so reminiscent.
But those who never see a moral will always live forever young.
I'll die a grown man before you see tomorrow's light of day.

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