Young man, just a shell, with a sigh of 'oh well'
Ripping up roots with worn hands, wiping sweat from beaten brow
Scratching lines in the field with his fathers plow
Praying for the rain, living for the sun,
only to rot in the ground
But the grass still grows, drying & dying as it always has,
like we all will
Scattering itself among a forest of rusting iron
& oily puddles
You were young once too, before you knew what it meant
to die
You were young once too, before you had to pay your life
away in toil
Now we're old, you & me, the years have run their course
Now we're old and it all makes sense,
and it never meant a thing