In books lies the soul of the whole Past Time: the articulate audible voice of the Past, when the body and material substance of it has altogether vanished like a dream.
Thomas Carlyle
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Brothers on a Hotel Bed
You may tire of me
As our December sun is setting
'Cause I'm not who I used to be
No longer easy on the eyes
But these wrinkles masterfully disguise
The youthful boy below
Who turned your way and saw
Something he was not looking for
Both a beginning and an end
But now he lives inside
Someone he does not recognize
When he catches his reflection on accident
On the back of a motorbike
With your arms outstretched trying to take flight
leaving everything behind
But even at our swiftest speed
We couldn't break from the concrete
In the city where we still reside
And I have learned
That even landlocked lubbers yearn
For the sea like navy men
'Cause now we say goodnight
From our own separate sides
Like brothers on a hotel bed
Like brothers on a hotel bed
Like brothers on a hotel bed
Like brothers on a hotel bed
You may tire of me
As our December sun is setting
'Cause I'm not who I used to be