Last Chance Lane
Is where we all end up at some point
Or another,
Where we pause at the doorway,
Thinking –
“This is it,”
Mourning the end of an era,
Grieving the death of a way of living,
Sorrowfully wishing, wondering,
Whispering into the autumn breezes –
“Why?”
For the past is irrevocably over,
And the present brutally flashing before our eyes,
But here, now, cruising down Last Chance Lane,
Doing ninety on ’80,
You can see the most fleeting of glimpses into the future,
You may peek into a world
Where you know the mistake you’re about to make,
But you go right ahead
And make it anyway.