1999
Clean shoes,
same shirt,
Same beginning,
same ending,
Same song all along through the years.
On access to the public,
Young on both ends,
The magic of the air is no longer there.
We have grown up,
Except a select few,
We all like to see,
They were all watching you.
It seemed so innocent,
And it truly was,
We all changed,
And it’s been stripped away.
Thirty-two of you,
I have come to know so well.
