Another day; another cut,
Another week; another scar,
Time stands still,
And the world moves on.
I write the date every day,
And every time I do its another month gone by,
It seems just like another day,
But somehow everything has changed.
This is supposed to be my prime,
Why do I feel only the aches of age,
Am I not like a good wine,
Do I not get better with age?
I had a certain light,
And some say it is gone,
I get more set in my ways,
Yet somehow I start to lose myself.
Another day; another cut,
Another week; another scar,
Time stands still,
And the world moves on.
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