When
I picture
my
youth
I see
you
and
me
Sitting
beneath
that old
oak tree
You
reading
a book
My
head
on your
shoulder
Both
of us
hoping
The
other
is
bolder
False Gods
Will
it
always
be like
this
She
said
Don’t
I deserve
a reprieve?
That
all
depends
on the
book
He
said
In
which
you
choose
to believe
