Shapes of things before my eyes,
just teach me to dispise.
Will time make man more wise?
Here, within my lonely frame.
My eyes just hurt my brain.
But will it seem the same?
Come tomorrow, will I be older?
Come tomorrow, maybe a soldier?
Come tomorrow, will I be bolder than today?
Now, the trees are almost green.
But will they still be seen,
when time and tide have been?
Soon, I hope that I will find
thoughts deep within my mind,
that won't disgrace my kind.
Come tomorrow, will I be older?
Come tomorrow, maybe a soldier?
Come tomorrow, will I be bolder than today?
Shapes of things before my eyes,
just teach me to dispise.
Will time make man more wise?