Young boys turn to young girls
To whittle away the time,
Young men turn towards war.
Comes a day when but a few young men remain.
In the bars and parks they congregate,
And polish their pain to badges of honor
With stories so bold.
Comes a time when the stories all sound the same.
And then as old men,
Dog-eared stories put away
They turn towards god…
And perhaps a very lovely garden.