Future, Ghost, Rain

I was born fifty years too late.
The truth is good men die everyday.
My life is results of grace and all the choices I have made.
"Hard times" is a taste I have never been fed.
I walk along the angels and the dead.
I have met the face of reality,
but I ain't never had to shake of her hands.

The future is a ghost in the rain
and death came as fast as we came.

I am the spoiled son. I was born as the second one.
Sometimes I'm the prodigal son
and sometimes I'm the other one.
If I am "the veteran", then I guess that makes you "the war."
In this "Harvard" town, we get no rewards.
My voice is not steady, my voice is not clean.
But I don't care of any of these things.

The future is lost in the rain.