I don’t remember stories to tell you, son,
Time ate up what’s inside me.
Wrinkles clutched its fists into me
Now I am weak,
Weak to tell you a story, son.
My eye’s lost it’s light forever son
I am losing what this life has offered me.
My memories are what they tell me
Now I am puppetry to them, son.
Now my eyes are wide
As if I am begging for something.
Wishing and bidding happiness,
And seeking the end, son
I don’t have stories to tell you, Son