I’ve tasted the echoes of a flame; inhaling silhouettes of the night’s
smoke; wasting time under the clouds of downhill voices, speaking
low on my worth.Where I recall my mother’s voice as the sturdy
cane of discipline – as we read about disciples who were just
ordinary men; we were orderly raised, where being scolded a
third time about coming to bath at five, was just a part of our
ordinary days. My most trusted companions where the imaginary
friends I made up – who knew they'd get me in trouble, if I was
found talking to myself while I play.

And I don’t feel that old, but nostalgia has been resting on my soul;
the better parts of it, and also the worst – where I grew up with the
biggest fear around girls. Though part of that fear still remains, only
we changed the fear of girls, to a fear of falling in love with the
wrong girl. “But I love her though,” by that statement I'll know
I’ve definitely fallen underneath the floor.

I hardly questioned my flaws; until I grew a little order and started
to be so aware of them all – then I grew a little older, to soon realize
they’re all just a part of us all. And I don’t feel that old, even when
the wisdom I get isn’t always the same wisdom the youth can own –
still I hope their purpose is the one thing they can own.

I have to keep a piece of self-worth in my silver thoughts, interlaced
like a plait – even when I think up a few corny bars; I still see
myself as platinum. Signed here... a Platinum baby.