Future Fogies

A city of fools

We walk below the tower of days now past

And approach a sweet dark pool of faded chalk

Taking a seat on the park bench like two old bookends

I'm just a wannabe Simon and maybe we can call you Art

Our future folds before us into a dancing crane of shadows

Prancing through the falling leaves our age finally catches up

We reminisce about the days now past to find an empty book

A page asking to be written, a sky wanting to change

I don't wanna know you like I should

Maybe tomorrow we'll wish we would