When money talks,
And there is food for thought,
We are starved for ideas,
Our ideas are then bought,
We might just be remembered,
When we have past our sell by date,
Remembered for a saying,
A sentence or retort,
Something said in vain,
In a web you’re caught,
Forever remembered for one song,
Even though you have written a hundred,
So many likes and retweets,
For a drunken little session,
Two billion users,
Not even a single mention,
A frustrating game of hide and seek,
No news for most of the week,
The trouble with that crooner called time,
Is it’s always on your mind and hands,
Clock slides slow when it can be a bitch,
At the once in a lifetime party,
Where all your friends attend,
It begins but soon it ends,
To coin a phrase,
To forge new friends,
To be bent out of shape,
Go crush a grape,
A crackerjack prize,
Like Mikes’ runaround,
The games we use to play,
Are no longer around,
The staple diet of childhood,
The tin can and the rope,
Replaced by artificial intelligence,
Bumps and bruises no long needed,
Those summer days in those six weeks,
Chasing after girls and their daisy chains,
BMX bikes that weighed a ton,
Getting drenched in a downpour, oh what fun
As the days darkened towards autumn,
Bramble picking along disused railway lines,
We are all relics of the past in the end,
We are all actors in a pantomime,
To coin a phrase,
To make mistakes,
To turn around your life,
Learn how to bake,
Home cooking on the second floor,
Mixing yeast with toxic flour,
Making sickly chocolate dishes,
That will crack your rotten teeth,
Homemade lasagne did not get home,
Dumped unceremoniously in the gutter,
Other dishes ended up drowning your homework,
A stinky mess in your brand new rucksack,
To coin a phrase,
Again and again,
Without your memories,
You would not be the same,
Making sense of your childhood nonsense,
Writing down your memoirs,
Constructing and deciphering whimpering ideas,
Laughing at yourself after all these years,
In the end will you be remembered?
As you move on and move away?
The girls have wilted like their daisy chains,
Our holidays are cut down to size,
The grass has been mowed a thousand times,
Now built on by some needless shopping arcade,
The disused railways became a motorway,
The brambles and orchards blown away,
Is nothing sacred anymore?
Does everything have to end?
All those memories from places that no longer exist,
The innocence of your very first tender kiss,
Everything has been erased,
Only memories remain,
Those little pockets of ideas,
Bursting one by one,
Until nothing is left to remember,
Dementia is cruel and takes it all away,
It would be nice to be remembered
To coin a phrase everlasting,
Join the dead poet’s society,
For what could have been,
So few of us reach our peak,
Eradicated from our dreams too soon,
A lot of dreamers and make believers,
Too busy infatuated with the moon.