Rust

Hey girl sitting all alone,

Waiting for that old phone,

To ring, and his name to show

On your caller ID,

Don't you feel rusty?

Hey boy in the fancy suit,

Selling yourself like a prostitute

To do someone else’s bidding,

Don’t you feel rusty?

We’re all gonna grow old someday,

And our joints will creak,

Motor oil won’t help then

But memories will,

So we might as well stop shackling ourselves down,

With all this rust

And start living while we can,

Before all we have left is regret

And the memory

Of what could have been

The Bilge Master