The wrinkled finger tips of my grandma,
Or the lonely candle on the birthday cake,
Left burning until the mother blows it out.
Perhaps it's measured by frown lines,
or those little parenthesis', formed around your lips,
Marking the laughter of life.
The fountain of youth, found in a cameras memory card,
The smile in a man's eye, the touch of a lover,
A smiling call from your mother.
Is age measured in cray paper streamers,
The flicker of a cake's candle,
A number, written on a card,
Or is it something more?
A number found within yourself,
Ticking back for every moment that life takes your breath away,
Only moving forward when life seems stagnant.
Tell me, what is your age?
Or the lonely candle on the birthday cake,
Left burning until the mother blows it out.
Perhaps it's measured by frown lines,
or those little parenthesis', formed around your lips,
Marking the laughter of life.
The fountain of youth, found in a cameras memory card,
The smile in a man's eye, the touch of a lover,
A smiling call from your mother.
Is age measured in cray paper streamers,
The flicker of a cake's candle,
A number, written on a card,
Or is it something more?
A number found within yourself,
Ticking back for every moment that life takes your breath away,
Only moving forward when life seems stagnant.
Tell me, what is your age?
