Borsato Marco
The Truth
Old And Discarded
Old and discarded
In a street without trees
She sits in front of the window
No one took her seriously
/>Old and discarded
Even by her own sons
Who live with their wives and children
Four streets away
All on her birthday
Then they still arrive< br/>But last year they left
After an hour
Old and discarded
In an apartment with small windows
He recognizes the faces
But remembers no names
And he would like to scream
Of the loneliness and pain
His end is his comfort
Because then everything will be different
Depending and lonely
Not in society
We run at a fast pace
Pass him and her past
We don't think about the future
And keep them small
Until we ourselves are old
And will be very lonely
Old and discarded
He spends his time dreaming
the visiting hours are over
And they are back didn't come

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