My map seemed bigger when I was young.
Among many things from my youth.
How often did I hung from your tongue?
Believing words to be gospel truth.
I was, as you say, uncouth in sooth.

My map seems smaller now.
The edges closing in on me now.
Black lines crisscrossing me now.
Don't know what to do now.

My map is gone.
And I'm to afraid to move.
I could step on a percussion cap,
gain a concussion or worse.
The unknown is overgrown with death caps
beneath my feet.

My map is gone and I do bemoan it.