What's it like to be old
To have wrinkly hands that crinkle when they fold
And to have grey hair, as grey as the moon
And eyes that tell great stories of the past that they knew
Whats it like to be old
And live in a home, with lots of other old people
Does it get old?
It's just a question that I have
Floating in my brain
Like a tiny water particle in a hurricane
Why's the sky blue? And why isn't it red?
And how come I'm not scared, that one day I'll be dead
Shouldn't there be dread? About what I just said
I'm not dreading dead. I'm all up in my head
Does life pick up the pace cause it feels like
I've been standing in the same place for years
Tell me, what's the point of tears
When not a thing has changed for years
Tell me, what's the point of tears
I know that you want to watch me fall down to my knees and cry
But I, for the life of me can't find the emotion inside