GOLDEN AGE OF BALLOONING
(Music: Taylor; Lyrics: Steph)

At my favourite place to think,
I order my fifth drink,
I slip and my forehead hits the bar,
I'd been thinking of the past,
Glory days which couldn't last,
When witty repartee made me a star.
My life flashed before my eyes,
I see I'm older yet not wise,
It's clear my boastful tales are just hot air,
And now I am assuming,
The golden age of ballooning,
Was maybe something never really there.

Hot air is used in education,
In politics and orchestration,
For trumpet or bassooning,
I should have used my skilled oration,
Instead I look back in vexation,
On my golden age of ballooning.

In the days of my youth,
I cared little for the truth,
Instead I tried to live the life of dreams,
The dizzy heights of excess,
Have left me in a mess,
Real life has now caught up with me, it seems.
My exploits are old hat,
My anecdotes fall flat,
My deflated ego fails to fill the sky,
Now no one wants to know,
My tales of long ago,
They all now have their own balloons to fly.

The mirror cracks at my reflection,
My best years without hesitation,
Were my golden age of ballooning,
I've learned to cope with this rejection,
And now I look back with affection,
On my golden age of ballooning.