I think about all the flawless young men
I see them remaining here
Waving as I cruise them by
Concealing astringent tears
What happened to their fantasies
Where have their young lives gone
Nothing is very what it appears
I see their grinning faces
However, I realize that they are phantoms
Phantoms of some other time
The phantoms we see the most
What’s more, in the eyes I see the tears
That dependably drive me on
Consistently I see my apprehensions
I know the years have cruised by
Be that as it may, the phantoms they are the same
Continually asking requesting what valid reason
They all get out my name
What would I be able to do to facilitate their torment
After such a variety of years so long
I am crying in the rain