Am growing feeble and older
am history,a forgotten sentence
a word covered in dust
a prose stuck in the mud
a rhyme waiting to flow

I've had enough of your blows
"I was once a great writer" but you ain't anymore
I might spit words that will get you choked
the days of future past belongs to the old

You are a fool young linguist
you strive for dust,
believing it's gold
quench your thirst,
but don't live life fast
you might turn into rust

hey
am still a toddler
who breaks hearts
and still fills much stronger

breaks hearts!
you've been waiting for months,
weeks and centuries
to be told I love you
but as for me
for every word i wrote
they fell in love