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How would the world look like when I'm old? Would we still look at the sky the same way we look at the people we love?
Would it be a wonderful place or a time I'd rather not be alive in? Would we still revel in hate, in vices, in sin?
How would the world look like when I'm old? Would it still remain the same —just plain photographs inside a glass frame? Would I look back at these and laugh while whispering —"What a time, what a day"
How would the world look like when I'm old? Indeed, I look at the stars the same way I wished people loved me
But in the present— It would be asked if the world was a good place to live in or if the state of the world is still fit —there is no one else who could answer that question but me
