I’ve gat a lot of questions looking for answers
I’ve gat a bunch of kids as asking for guards
Both the orphans and the old grannies

The assignment of some was realized lately
While some dine in luxury of discovery
Even as all merry in the past
The future is undoubtedly death

All kids worry to live the future they desire
All grands worry to lament the past they retire
Even as the water seem near in the well
And the zenit so low on the mountain
No gear drives age to reverse
And no brake puts it to pause

Flowers withering away like the desire of the old
In horticultural farm of gloomy desert hood
Dust filled the dream of the future
And cloud rains the conscience of failure
Or the regrets of pleasure
Or despair of inexperienced leisure

The avoided pain of the yesteryears
Becomes a wound hitching and killing
Hard as happiness appears
On the father of seven
Who discovered they were bastards
After decades of commitment and struggles