Are we honouring a dead music.
Keeping it alive like some symposium.
Forgetting the value it once had.
The meat grinder of nostalgia
takes a lot of feeding;
and what comes out at the other end.
Well that is best left unobserved.
When will they grow old
and become teenage ciphers no more.
On and on ploughing a fallow path.
Making what was once a joy,
indentured; an intolerable yoke.
Come sit with me a while
and sing the songs of your youth.
Singem again for me.