With pleasure comes the grasp of Time's remarkable hands,
As they surround us with their touch and feeling and warmth,
Grasp us in their skin, wrinkled and old, some broken and tender
To those of us that have a feeling on the inside. They are cold and broken
To the ones whose souls have already served their time, and have died
Alive, to be something no one wants, no one needs, no one will have.