So what has been the tale of my life?
What lesson should I take from all the years,
from every second that's been filled with strife
and the tracks of all my tears?
Should I become so bitter, hard and cold
that I fulfill every fear of my youth?
Disillusionment grows as we get old;
pessimism becomes truth.
Will this be me as I approach twighlight?
A bitter old man alone with his fear,
muttering and cursing into the night,
scared to see the end so near.
How did this cold man come from what was me?
In the show of my life, this little play,
I never thought this would be my act three.
How did it turn out this way?
Do I even dare to hope there is more,
some sweet taste of life in the bitter dregs?
Is there anything left I should fight for?
Should I race on tired legs?
I suppose it's too late to change my part -
the play has begun, I must see it through.
I'll try to be a credit to my art
and I'll do what I must do.
But still I'd like maybe just once to know
that somewhere hidden deep within my soul
is all the hope and love I used to show
'fore bitterness took its toll.