mimpi

My eyes are growing old With the bleaks I suppose not to see and less of shines I must, I wonder if you will like me with old eyes. My ears are growing old With spurt of falsities and less of solicitous symphony I must, I wonder if you will like me with old ears. My lips are growing old With the fake guilt smiles and less of squashy love I must, I wonder if you will like me with old lips. My nose is growing old With plastic breeze and less of essential fragrance I must, I wonder if you will like me with an old nose. My heart is growing old With sopping up blots, blues, blames, growing big and supple I know, you will love me with an old heart.