Wind blowing against me I'm trapped in my own thoughts went back to the bench we used to talk on but now it's gone the wood on the funbox rotted so long ago but the broken pieces still remain on the old gravel road isolated once again a stoic face replaces the old grin and the gaping holes in our stomachs remind us of what we tried to forget I'm tired of trying to revisit the past when it's all dead as all my old friends leave I guess I'll have to play pretend as life goes on