There is no day as was such yesterday,

There was time to whistle and scream,

with all the gleefulness of being gay.

How happy those longs lost day seem to be,

as we stand on the cliff looking over seas.


Life will never be the same.

Bruises and burns, cuts and tears,

Lie saying you just fell down and hope,

people believe what they hear. 

Little bird little bird crease your struggling the light

will cut through the fear.


At least you had times for the tears,

many young and lost birds never do,

Never to stop and think that others really do care, 

for them it is too late and the cliff is yesterday.

What would you do on our last day?


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