the hands have turned in several circles
and here I am at last
my head between the leveled curtains
behind me, left for past

the future veiled by pleats drawn
undone a twisted cord from imagination
I see a lonely boy growing old
in cubicles and grocery stores
condemnation of pc screens
drifted words become
the only voice stony cold
I see a lonely girl growing old
in tiny houses with empty rooms
and a stuffed closet with nothing used
whipped stirred and done
the bony choice joking folds
a lonely person growing old

tears will well, in weeping fell
but clear eyes see fear lies
because of course beyond the curtains
nothing's forced and nothing's certain
thus all could be reality
it's mostly knowing keeping bold
just wait and see what's next for me
I won't be lonely growing old