day after day
month after month
time if flying
time of the youth,
wasted.
everyday we run away
in our minds.
somewhere, our own place.
each day goes by,
another wasted day.
one day, we will have to
grow up, move on.
but now is our time,
to waste.
because one day
it will be gone, days of our
lives. but for now,
the time is ours,
our golden age.
for hannah
