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Oh my broken battered body, |
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In the days when I was younger, |
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Used to fix itself quick sharp |
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After every slip and stumble. |
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But these days I'm collecting scars that don't seem to fade, |
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Cuts and bruises that won't go away. |
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And I used to think that I |
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Would never live past twenty five, |
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And when you think like that, each day |
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Is a gift if you survive. |
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But I've survived too long for my side of the deal, |
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And as I reach that shore I'm not sure how to feel. |
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I keep losing days |
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That used to take a lifetime |
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In the blinking of an eye. |
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And all these small ideas |
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Are suddenly commitments, |
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As greatness slips on by. |
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I remember well the day that I got my first tattoo: |
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I was so scared before and after I was so proud when it was new. |
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But these days I've gone and got me many more, |
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And sometimes I get more when I get bored. |
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One for every year I've lost |
