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Aye, those were the days, lads;
When we rode high,
and served Things best not named.
Aye, we were young and stupid then.
But it was a GRAND kinda stupid,
kinda had the same elegance a neatly dressed but flyblown corpse does.
Were we insane?Look at our eyes.
Hell, ask the Wedding Guest.Or even the damn Bird.
But aye.Time passes.
We so cocksure in youth, now so..cautious with age?
How did we get here?When did age sneak up on us like this?
When, by all that's damned, did we become reflections of ourselves?
How can I tell you what painting runes in blood feels like,
When I can't even remember what breakfast tasted like today?
How do we describe what was stolen,
when even WE dinna know what we lost?
All I know is, there's a lad with my face and ancient, terrible eyes out there.
Somewhere far beyond, one could say.
Yet all too close to home.
I hate to refute King, but down here, we don't float.
And perhaps, it's best that way.
It's always the same.
ALWAYS.
That's why this is Hell, my friends.
But we forget, too..That's why it's also Heaven.
May you find Heaven in your own Hell, dear ones.
