Where are the times of old?
The ones we never thought were absolute gold.
Where are those dreams of magic?
The ones which were never tragic.
Where are those times of wizardry?
The ones void of neuropsychiatry.
Our hearts and souls, both very alike,
Yet both held captive to the endless cycle of life.
Where are the times of laughter?
The ones void of disaster.
The rosy pictures we once drew,
Fail to appear,
Year upon Year.
Where are the times of fun?
The ones that didn't end with "Sir, I'm done."
We realise the cost, but only when it's been lost.
Through thick and through thin,
Our childhoods were void of sin.
Our innocent minds,
Our oblivious nature,
That people were of so many kinds.
Our favourite places,
Our oblivious nature,
That one person could have so many faces.
