If I could turn back towards yesterday,
I'd walk down the road of our childhood,
And perhaps not be so desperate to reach the next town.

Before, the years had whispered quietly, "Growing old is not a game,"
But amidst the secret paintings of sunrises and stars,
We were not able to translate the message.

And all that I am capable of doing now,
Is bowing my head in shallow commemoration,
To all that we once were, and all that we tried too hard to become.

So friend, I pray for you and for what we did not savour,
It seems that years of innocence have stranded us,
Between feeling too much, and too little.

As the curtain opens and our second act begins, we part,
For you and your ship have set forth on a voyage towards forever,
And I am left standing alone upon the sands of youth.