Cherish that being scared of the future feeling.
It’s just one snare hit on the drum track of some wack ****
you slapped together in mom’s basement on a 8 track sold at her estate sale
and bought by a soundcloud rapper who will just delete the ****
to make one of his lame *** songs.

Youth burns like the oil in old lamps.
Only ever slow clap when it’s the most out of place.
Fold up maps and toss them out rental car windows.
Laugh like a savage drinking blood of his cold axe blade.

It will be ok.
This isn't as much of a battlefield as you're painting it out to be.

Although the carrion still circle overhead though so...