It was I,
Poor as a baby and twice the fool,
feral and rude,
the song that I sing,
it is a tune in the key of,
a young man with means.
It was I,
Bothered to witness,
and pained to see,
wIth two failing knees,
well into her age,
every morning my Grandmother,
would work for a wage.
It's a cold blooded tale,
here's the last coffin nail. . .
So long to a life carefree,
It's passing by with each year or three,
I'll call it aloud,
I'll call it by name,
the young and the vain,
they are one and the same.
It was I,
Weathered, and battered,
and compromised.
Dull in the eyes.
The song that I sung,
it is the melody of one who longs to be young.
It's a cold blooded tale,
here's the last coffin nail. . .
So long to a life carefree,
It's passing by with each year or three,
I'll call it aloud,
I'll call it by name,
Beauty and loss,
they are one and the same.