A burning branch must fall sometime,
when the children grow up,
and become the wise men who become sages,
we all look back with fondness on days remembered not,
for we too were encompassed by the pleasures best forgot.

Start anew and carry on.

When it hits the ground and sparks fly off the leaves,
the phoenix moans in it's casket beneath the autumn breeze,
I wish for harder things,
I wish for brighter days,
But most of all I wish,
for a world built not on praise.