Faulter

Sun-baked signs
The colors fade away
'til everything assumes a neutral beige
They changed the wrap
And now it tastes like crap
Or maybe things were always just this way

The past preserved
We get what we deserve
Nostalgia and diminishing returns

Each passing spring
Slightly less glistening
Our furrowed fruits start rotting on the vine
The spotlight wanes
And yet we still complain
Of things to which we all must be resigned

We wouldn't want it any other way
In the new age, the old ways faulter
Sheep-dipped assassin, come and take it all away
In the new age, the old ways faulter