Maybe it’s true.  

Maybe we’re hopeless romantics. 

Maybe our future is golden. 

Maybe the world’s in our hands. 

Maybe it’s true. 

Maybe the weight of humanity rests 

In our chests 

‘Cause these hearts 

Have the minds 

Of the best. 

Maybe it’s true. 

Maybe we think 

So immeasurably deep,

And we keep

Every scream,

Every laugh,

Every groan, 

Every weep. 

Maybe it’s true.

Maybe we live

We live- 

We live- 

We live like poets:

Take in all of the moment, 

And always

Decode it, 

Define it,

Rewrite it, 

And own it. 

Let’s take a break, 

And be young again, 

Young like the couples with crinkled skin, 

Who tease, 

And who joke, 

And who laugh, 

‘Till they choke. 

Young again, 

Like the couples with crinkled skin, 

Who with Sun, 

They awake, 

And they pray, 

And they take 

Every day 

That they make. 

Young again, 

Like the couples with crinkled skin:

Who can’t breathe, 

But they sing. 

Who can’t stand, 

But they spring. 

Who can’t talk, 

But they seem

To make most sense 

To me. 

Who can’t walk, 

But they leap. 

Who can’t eat, 

But they keep

Perfect taste

In opinions. This life,

They call great.

Yes, they go

Rather quick.

Every memory sticks,

And we cry,

And ask why

We could live

As they died.

They lived young,

But then busy.

They called their forties

“Their frenzies”. 

Then they slowed, 

And they breathed, 

And aged back 

To their teens, 

Where they played, 

And they joked, 

And they laughed, 

And they teased.

So I’ve learned,

As I’ve grown,

That these people weren’t old.

They were young.

They were young.

They lived life

As it’d come.

I’ve learned best,

From the best,

Not to run,

But to rest.

Like they said,

”Take life slow,

So you’re young

When you’re dead.” 

They were young. 

They were young. 

They grew old, 

And died young. 

Let’s be young.

Let’s be young. 

While we live, 

Let’s be young.