The more life you've lived is just more sorrow seen.
Every sadness you feel leaves a mark where it bleeds.
So old age is scars, and youth is naive.
I've seen kids of 18 so much older than me.
But youth, she is pretty, she laughs in our dreams
And try though we might, she will always retreat.
So reaching and grasping, we clutch at her feet
Until sorrow and sadness bring us to our knees.
Then sighing we stand with regret in our eyes.
Regret for the hurt, for the sin, for the lies.
But lurking respect in the back of our minds
Reminds of the wisdom we learned from the lies.
And now you admit you're no longer naive.
Your youth, she has fled, though young you may be.
And you'd never give up what you learned how to see,
Though hearts of the wise feel much deeper things.
So onward we march, all so bitter and pleased.
The mistress of youth just a faint memory.
And the scars that we wear full of pride on our sleeves
Remind us that beauty is earned before seen.
