Nights colder than polished steel.
Sleeping on the floor of some band house.
Intoxicating sobriety looms.
Were you with me?
I may have meet you there.
So many friends who come and go.
Only a few actually say good-bye.
Keeping warm by those who knew me.
Froozen by those who left my side.
Music, Life, Twenty Four Hours.
Forever it seemed for all of us.
What was it we were looking for?
A party? A toke? A life of hopes?
All of a sudden the fun ended.
The lights went out.
I started growing hair from my ears.
White instead of blond.
Drinking wasn't fun, nor any party.
I could never hold my liqour anyways.
We grew up, apart, alone.
The music stayed.
Cursing those of us who live it.
A feeling unlike any other.
This rythme, this beat, this sound.
We never found what we were looking for.
It was all a haze for many.
Looking back now at the loss of time.
I realized the one thing that kicks me to this day.
It wasn't the night that was cold as steel.
Nor the empathy of lifes battles.
It was the choices we made because we had no other.
Nobody showed us how to grow.
Nobody showed me, in my younger days.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem