Real photos lived in dusty frames or well thumbed leatherette albums Expectations of two dozen memories developed and delivered No immediate gratification Shared with a cuppa and a story Not a pithy quip to a digital nation
Who cares what I have to say Just a middle aged dad with a mortgage to pay Who am I, well if you listen to the rumours I'm to old to be millennial, to young to be a boomer.
Too lazy to read Too busy to chew No time to have a Conversation with you Leave me a message Leave me alone Why would you talk to someone On the phone Who carries cash Who calls a cab No need to leave home, I'm the immobile hermit crab.
Apparently I'm the Muffin Man I don't live on Drury Lane But when faced with mounds of baked goods I choose the muffin...again Apparently I'm the Muffin Man I'm not a fan of change So when there are no muffins It causes me some strain I know that I'm the Muffin Man And what you might not see I find a comfort in consistency That soothes anxiety.
When the clarity of youth has faded and left you with a world view smeared in shades of grey You still carry the same values But a fear of loss Has obscured them with too many coats of gloss
(image from this article about slacktivism)
No beer, no fun No wine, no puns No whisky, no chatter No Vodka, no laughter No Bourbon, no pranks No Gin, (I never really liked gin) Never was a one drink boy Giving but never feeling joy
(image credit chaosrenzo)
Ha ha the jokes on you Got a young man's hat But an old man's shoes You occasionally orbit into style Laika mummified fashionphyle
(Image by brokenchair)