Times, still times, I am the pawn of crime,
Times in the year of some mimicked affair
Sink from the soul, and unfold for your mind,
In dreaming of a somewhere happy-place,
but wishing for the ways which came before.
Old as the first sun twinkling in the heavens,
That has us stare into a sense vortex,
We were once all little above normal;
So gone, so torn, those times when you were born.
Ah, weird and strange as in pink behind green
The wonderful rape of half-forsaken fools
To living hands, for really living lives
Graveyards all brook Winter universally
So gone, so strange, those times when you were born.
Hated as deliberate lies after sex,
And bland as ashes of hopeless people burned
In eyes which pine for others; lost as space,
Lost as first Man, and dark with fire burning;
O Crime of Age, those times when you were born…