In 100 year’s time all you’ll be is a photo,
You’re only remains a picture on a wall;
And children will look at you
And say you look like Mum
And say they look like you
Like you do right now.
And your children will tell stories
About when they were young
And they’ll talk about the things you told them
You did when you were young.
And you won’t be forgotten
Because they will remember.
But how about when they’re gone?
How about when no one cares?
Will you have to wait for an inquisitive descendant
To research her family tree
To be recalled to the present?
But really, does it matter?
Why hold on?
I want to, humans need to,
But why hold on?
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