You live in secret places where celebrations are not allowed.
In my room I often recite lyrics from happier times.
You seem to relish not being,
more than I can laugh at being who I am.
Taking it all too seriously, too much to heart, is one way to grow old.
You have found another, the pursuit of eternal youth.
Is it just a phase on the way?
I must trust there is something more to come – 
something more than this transitory dust.