There was a day I used to sing so well
That scoundrels had their tears well
There was a day I sounded the piccolo
That my jeers hearkened to my call
But those days are eaten by moth and rust

There was a day I used to write my heart out
When my mind was vibrant and my mouth gave a loud shout
There was a day I used to craft the best art
And curated the best sculpture
But those days were eaten by moth and rust

Here I am with my memories at hand
Still making memories of ‘wasting away’
A story the future beings and audiences
Here I am with much talk and less walk
With shoulders shrugged and sulked
Letting the moth and rust eat my life away