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We flicker through days like the way my fingers play the strings of that old guitar I love so much -

sometimes soft, like dewdrop rain;

sometimes rough, like a cold coffee stain;

sometimes not at all, like the boy who used to sit in the back of the classroom.

He's gone now.

The days drift by so slowly, like a muggy summer night.

I long for a breeze to carry me away, yet there's a certain magic in this twilight air, as the fireflies of a new life awaken and the campfires of the old dwindle.

It's romantic, like the stuff secrets are made of. But it's lonely like a secret, too.

The days will continue to come and go,

yet I will stay.

I can see it now, growing old, fading into dimly lit orange juice mornings and slipping out of cricket chirp evenings.

As the shadows fall behind,

still I will stay.

I can see it now - comforting little, tear-stained eyes that can't yet grasp the sights they've witnessed, tucking their tiny feet in bed while I sing lullabies of wonderland.

The days will come and go.

My heart may be forced to fall into line and my body may conform to the ravages of time,

yet, still, I will stay,

because we have such a long way to go before we sleep.

We're the Young Blood.

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