Oh, golden age; anxiety and endless possibilities:
No different from today.
In you I feel the end of youth and possibly the start of life,
But I'm not going to stay.
The only thing that holds me back from living in my memories,
The only thing I clutch,
Is a present better still I'm almost still afraid to touch.
Perhaps I miss the past too much?
But what about those months when I was someone else?
I think I needed it.
And I was nobody, yes I know; but I was somebody, too.
And I was watching as we lived,
You as somebody else sometimes,
And sometimes you as you.
Do you feel this way when you remember back?
Ethereality is moon, not sun.
I hear the sweetest music in my head at times like these,
And I don't know where it's been coming from.