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The Good'ole Days

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Sitting alone, in this great dome
Looking at its wonders
Memories of old times home
Come at once, a blunder
Although hazy, I still see
A good old friend of mine
Whistling as the warm winter’s wind
On these cold ears of mine
Twice a day both far and near
I hear my friend go by
He pushes through; as I stargaze
Through the great big plains of rye
At last I arrive
To my humble abode
Take off my shoes
First dash, then explode
Jump on the couch
With all my might
Run around the house
And cause a great fright
The clang of the pots
As they hit the kitchen floor
The roar of my father
As he awakes from his snore
Thinking of the good’ole days
Oh it warms me to the core





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