My soul stretches thin
A poor quarter sits in the din
The light of the sun sips the darkness within
Makes it look diaphonous and slim
The years had taken my father in
As I reminisce with a glass of lime and gin
My conscience might explode

As I waver like unsure lamps as I walk the dwelling
On streets that are ignorant of my grinning
The shade is where there are child-like leaves
Forgetful of the trees and aware of breeze
Like memories strewn about for all at peace
I saw through the morose eyes tied to the past
They washed and moistened at breakfast