The Young

The nights begun

and my braids have come undone

they've fallen at your feet in a pile of thunder

strange but not unkind

all the mazes in our minds

Lets go together now

and let them take us under.Oh golden fire,

We are down but we are not tired.

We're just resting in these

doldrums of your song.And all our work will travel on

and leave us nothing to drink from.

But this is not the time

to be alone and worry,

it might mean something to the youngThese things we've made

how long can they parade?

I feel them moving now their always leaving

but so long and true

are the times I look at you

Your face is like a poem that I keep reading.

And have we done anything for the young?

Will they see these conclusions that we've drawn?