My dear little friend
What if we become some little old men
When we’re broke and hurt and empty hands
And for our words, no one understands
Would we still love?
My dear little friend
Why must we measure the depth of our pain
Let them be, let them pass and help we learn
For if I forever wincing
Would we still be loved?
My dear little friend
One day we’ll be grey and time is against
Will we blame those love songs when our backs are bent
For what we once would just die for,
And we would still die for.
– m, to Jim
καλόν ἐστιν ἡμᾶς ὧδε εἶναι 