The 'tree's which not only grow
But are smoked from kids below
The drinks that mix and swirl
Make the kids lie down and hurl
The hollow hearts of days before
Tumble, broken on the floor.
As each day starts anew
They think of times; they find their cue
They speak of thoughts, of memories.
Of dreams and ambitions of being free.
Well it ain't so great; let me say
Your dreams may not last past a day
Because as we grow, we lose our cause
We become what we have lost
Our memories are bare of reward
Except tormet, regrets, and damaged swords