It's not how it is, it's raw and ambiguous as it should have been kept on for future generations to come.

Holdin' a picture frame wishin' that we didn't age
Photo album cellophane, shocked as I flip the page

In my sixties: bald, grey beard, wrinkled skin
Glasses, gettin' thin, jaw line sinkin' in
Thinkin' then were different times, young, in my prime
At fifty-five started forgettin' lines, mumblin' rhymes

Wrote books, scripts, screenplays, stayed lyrical
MP3's digital, vinyl is now minimal
It's critical, still freestylin' with my grandkid
The beats and the flows are new, but I understand his . . . . - Wordsworth.

34 tracks