When I'm History how fast it is, i know, that i am growing old,
like the slow wither of a beautiful red rose;
a book abandoned before its story is told.
how fast it is, i know, that i am growing old,
like a streak of lightning on the western sky;
flashbacks of my short life begins to unfold.
how fast it is, i know, that i am growing old,
like a diamond in the rough in a chunk of coal;
what's to come, i couldn't ask for anything more.
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