The Young

The nights begun
and my braids have come undone
they've fallen at your feet in a pile of thunder
strange but not unkind
all the mazes in our minds
Lets go together now
and let them take us under.

Oh golden fire,
We are down but we are not tired.
We're just resting in these
doldrums of your song.

And all our work will travel on
and leave us nothing to drink from.
But this is not the time
to be alone and worry,
it might mean something to the young

These things we've made
how long can they parade?
I feel them moving now their always leaving
but so long and true
are the times I look at you
Your face is like a poem that I keep reading.
And have we done anything for the young?
Will they see these conclusions that we've drawn?