I see an old man eating alone

Is he as lonesome as he looks?

Will I end up the same alone in a room full of books with no picture frames

I’m not photogenic

But I’ll take your pictures love

And you’ll see

That I’ll be the finger in the corner

of your favorite memories

I see an old man singing

His face looks quite like mine

I lack the courage to wave

At my future self just a few years closer to the grave

And I’m not good at talking

But I’ll write you lullabies

And stories

And I’ll be the voice in the corner

Singing you to sleep

The old man walks through a sad door

Down some stairs

To an office

And opens a drawer

Where he keeps the files

And fills out a form

And writes in the space

I don’t recognize myself anymore

And the photographs will show

Growing old is the slowest form of time travel

It’s the slowest form of time travel

Growing old is the slowest form of time travel

It’s the slowest form of time travel

I eat my meals alone

I’m as lonesome as I looked