I think I might be broken,
Now I know that seems strange,
But I'm loosing all my colour,
And everythings turning grey.

My life used to be in subtle pastels,
Some friends faces would glow gold,
But now everyone seems washed out,
Like it's just a side effect of growing old.

My sisters all shine a grieving red,
My Mother a drowning blue,
My Grandparents colours seem to have fled,
Like maybe they're washed out too.

The green grass I live on is quickly turning yellow,
The brown leaves of dying tree's remind me of loss,
As the bright and excitable gradually turn mellow,
Isn't it a shame what "Just existing costs?"