it ain't the same
remember your street
how colorful it was
almost like a yellow brick road
or a gingerbread house

your friends congregating for a game of 21
americana incarnate with illegal fireworks
and soggy doritos after swimming for hours

what's really so different
everyone becomes an adult eventually
I just hate different the birds sound
They don't even sing much anymore

Colors muted and sights replaced
brutalist and architecture meant to appease shareholders

Nostalgia and cynicism are best buddies
and I here I am...
misery comes in threes