Who am I to say that I deserve this spot,
23 years old; sick and worn out;
While another child lays himself flat in a hospital bed
And draws his precious breath, for a last time?
And for the group of adults who grow old
To know their fruits and the dangerous of the outer world,
Who grow old to have their legs exhausted
With their children beside them to look on,
Who am I to say that I deserve this 23-year-old spot?
But for those precious souls I look on;
For the exhausted adults, I march on;
For the worn-out children confined to their parents,
And for all of us, worn out by our souls, I open my eyes,
Proudly sitting in the 23-year-old spot for those who passed on.
