At beginning of the day, how could he know that he dies?In earlier years he indulged in every desire of the living;
but age brings wisdom to foolish eyes, and time is anything but forgiving.
Watching blossoms wilt as blossoms bloom, composing an elegy of regret in their demise;
he sees the young learn little from their elders’ passing, following in step with eager eyes.
He’s found that living is the rapture of life, to lovers not lost in their games;
but no trophy is awarded for amassing the most, without ever knowing their names.
Lyrics sway idle minds, convincing followers that musicians lead the way;
but his experience says those who love you most can see clearly where your path lay.
Reflecting on his best is the same as reflecting on his worst, exhausting time on what he’s become;
losing himself in trying to win, he’s wasted the last of days that’s nearly done.