The world is run on slowly turning wheels,
All lives revolve round circles small and tight,
And as a man grows time rounds what he feels
And our sharpness is sanded out of sight.
I used to be so sensitive and keen,
I used to have a temper like a crime,
But all that's been eroded and I've seen
My funny little quirks dissolved in time.
The things I used to be have all been changed
Though voluntarily I am polite,
Some little parts of me still seem deranged,
And bits of me still wonder in the night.
I am more smooth and rounded than before,
But hope not to become what I abhor.