I was born -- I hate this part

Being someone new

Being torn -- seeing someone who died

As you grew

Growing older is killing a child

Who laughed and smiled

At anything

Growing colder and less and less wild

And learning to say



I was young -- then not so young 

Scary either way

One more rung down that black ladder 

Every day

One more floor

Down the elevator

To oblivion -- what fun



But the singularly awful one 

Is being born