Here we are, sitting in the rocking chair
Back and forth, the flash of pages and knitting needles
Formal cliché dance in the warm summer sun
Creak of the door, in the old memory
of house
Where a child grew up, and now looks back
Slight breeze, blow the gray hairs and the glasses
More pages flip and you are gone
A person of paper, a destiny foretold
Through the hands of another
No choice for thou art old, and gone from the child's mind
Left on a dusty shelf, hidden in the darkness
Never see the light of the sun, except for the porch
On the one page of another
A soldier, a lover, a dancer, what art thou?
Will you decide the person of paper
Sing your song of dignity
Tomorrow, you will be gone while you tell your sorry tale
A future of the people, written in stories
Into the books again as people read
Broken love and old couples
Content in the simple ways they live their lives
But never will they know that they are only the persons of paper