Tomorrow is another day,
that is what they always say,
but wishing on a shooting star,
has never brought me very far.
They tell me that too late I’ll see,
the fortune put in front of me.
Youth is wasted on the young,
an adage much too often sung.
We all just want what can’t be ours,
pulling off petals of daisy flowers,
chanting he loves me, he loves me not,
waiting for that dreaded spot,
where the petals run out and the answer is clear,
the answer we seek, the answer we fear.
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