I think your birthday should be the saddest day of your life.
That’s one year gone, one year lost.
Three hundred and sixty five days that can never be recovered.
Memories soon to be forgotten.
The day you die is closer now,
and you’re yet to achieve your dreams.
This big beautiful life,
is slipping away from your grasp.
And like the sitting duck,
you can do nothing.
On your birthday,
you’re reminded of when you came,
and also that you’ll leave.
Of what you have and what you don’t,
and what you’ll leave behind.
On your birthday you receive messages of goodwill,
from family and friends and colleagues,
and also from people that only remember you on your birthday.
It’s exactly what happens on the day you die.
But don’t take my word for it,
I’m just an old drunk with a troubled soul,
sitting under a tree with a glass of cheap whisky on my left hand,
observing life with a pessimistic mind.
What do I know?