Older tongues speak of our future.

They echo of future deeds

Haughty laughs leave their stomachs

I think they give hope.

I think they give dreams.

Older tongues speak of our future.

They echo their past,

Letting tears caress their faces

I think they give me hope

I think they give me pride.

Older tongues speak of our future.

They feed us the present.

Reminding us of The Fall.

Their older bodies have nearly finish singing their tones.

But their Older tongues

Teach us…

Help Us…

But only if we listen.

Dust to Ashes.

They have paved so much.

But Ashes to Ashes

So much they knew has gone up in flames

Tongues of the Old, speak of old truth.

Tongues of the Old, speak of new truth.

But only if one knows how to listen.

While their bodies were young,

They painted grey bricks yellow.

But only until time forced them to stop.

The tongues of the Old speak of the grey.

They remember when their road was still grey,

And how they broke their hands painting it yellow.

So Many never got to see the yellow road,

The Old resonant their pain in their eyes,

And their lost gives the Old Ones strength.

This is their legacy.

The Old tongues tell us to fight.

The Old tongues tell us to dream.

“Stop crying…stop whining…just fight”

“Lose your pride…or burn with it”

The Old tongues echo their dreams,

They echo their truth.

I hope I listen.

I hope they listen.

Time places pressure on their bones

Yet they find time to speak to us.

To warn us…

Because their work is yellow,

But mine…no ours…is grey.