I think of old slow songs

That sound like the singer has a mouth full of blood

The slurs of lyrics

The pace

I feel like I’m watching it all unfold in front of me

Old home movies

Super 8 quality with grit

Blurred images

The faces are familiar

But I can’t place who they belong too

If I were younger this would be the the the moment every thing changed

My metamorphosis

Baptized and reborn

But I’m not young anymore

Not really

Daisy fresh fantasies have evaporated from me

Nothing changes