I want to be eighteen forever,
I don't want my skin to turn to leather.

Will I forget the people who raised me?
The one's who pushed me to become everything I could be.

When I'm sitting in my rocking chair,
with my withering hair,
will I remember the good times, the bad, the experiences and the memories?
or will they just dissolve into my empty stare,
while wishing I was still there.