I wasn't wise but I was way before my years,
In the hollow doom, I wished to be a bird.
My feelings were perplexed, nauseating to the core.
The sympathy of the street lamps turned me old.
Through the folding and unfolding,
Of all the phases of the youth.
There was no correct articulation of who we were turning into.
Days were sharp but the nights filled with choice.
There was no malice in the verdict,
Trouble brought destiny and acceptance carried rejoice.