The words of the children endure through their childhood; The words of wise men – lucky to touch youth. It is not through force that prowess comes forward And not through its gentleness that it speaks the truth.
Behold the almighty performer – the gentleman: Time and time again he will show us how. The toasts that we drink to his hollow existence Seldom break a sweat on his tailored brow.
And counting the acts, we await the ending With anticipation, we can guess the plot. But what happens when all of the pretending Is simply the start? Is there room for thought?
When bandits of time have bent all the arrows And minutes pass by like seconds before, And hours are weary, and friends are less buoyant, And all that you look for is what washes ashore.
What happens when lovely turns into the vulgar? Excitement begins to be drenched with regret. And all that was beautiful, precious and holy Is enclosed or captive, and branded with threat?
The soft silky gowns flow down my skin, And all that I see is the young girl within.