You may tire of me,
As our December sun is setting,
‘Cause I’m not who I used to be.
No longer easy on the eyes,
These wrinkles masterfully disguise
The youthful boy below.
Who turned your way and saw,
Something he was not looking for,
Both a beginning and an end.
But now he lives inside,
Someone he does not recognize,
When he catches his reflection on accident.