older lyrics的八卦，PINTEREST和Yahoo名人娛樂都在討論

。。。要活得無怨無悔：上了年紀的人，通常不會因做過的事後悔；卻常因在年輕時，未曾去做自己想做的事而遺憾，只有心懷悔恨的人，會恐懼死亡。。。。

其實這不是第一次看到類似的故事。但因為人太健忘。所以三不五時提醒一下。
有時候覺得遲疑是因為人有太多莫名的包袱。。。去吧！

（轉貼）《任何人都會變老，但不一定每個人都會長大》

開學第一天，教授自我介紹後，要每位同學主動去結交一位新朋友。
當我站起來環視四週時，有人輕輕拍我的肩膀。
我轉過頭，看見一位滿臉縐紋，個子矮小的老婦人對著我微笑，那笑容光亮璀燦。
她說：「嗨！帥哥，我叫蘿絲，今年87歲。我可以抱你一下嗎？」
我笑起來，熱切的答道：「當然可以」，她果真緊緊地將我抱個滿懷。

我開玩笑的問她：「你年紀這麼小，怎麼就來上大學了？」
她也調皮的回答道：「我準備來這釣個金龜婿，生幾個孩子，然後退休去雲遊四海。」
「此話當真？」我明知故問。

我很好奇，到底是何動機，促使她年屆古稀，還來上大學。
她告訴我說：

「我一直夢想要受大學教育，如今終於得償宿願。」
下課後，我們散步到學生聯合大樓，兩人分享了巧克力奶昔，從此我們成了摯友。
往後三個月的每一天，我們總是一起離開教室，天南地北的聊個沒完。
她像一部「時光機器」，將智慧和經驗與我分享，而我總是聽得津津有味。

一學年下來，蘿絲成了學校鼎鼎大名的人物。
不論走到那裡，她總能輕易的結交到新朋友。
她經常打扮得漂漂亮亮的，陶醉在同學們對她的關注之中。
學期結束時，蘿絲應邀到我們為足球隊舉辦的晚宴中演講。
我永難忘懷當晚她賜予我們的珍貴禮物。
主持人介紹她給聽眾之後，她碎步走向講台，正當要開始演講時，她手中的講稿不慎掉落地上。

有幾秒鐘時間她顯得有點懊惱和靦腆，不過立刻就幽默的對著麥克風淡淡的說：「抱歉，我最近老喜歡掉東西，剛剛我本想喝杯啤酒壯膽，卻喝了威士忌，沒想到那玩意兒簡直要我的命，看來我是記不得事先準備的東西了，那我就講最熟悉的事情吧。」

在大家的笑聲中，她清了一下喉嚨，然後開始說：『我們不是因為年老而停止玩樂，我們是因停止玩樂才會變老，只有一種秘訣能使人青春永駐，快樂成功。

就是你們必須經常笑口常開，幽默風趣；你們必須時時懷抱夢想，當你們失去夢想時，你們就形同死亡，我們的週圍有許多人像似行屍走肉，卻不自覺。』

『變老和長大之間有很大的差別，任何人都會變老，但不一定每個人都會長大。

長大的意思是，你必須不斷在蛻變中找尋成長的機會而善加利用。
要活得無怨無悔：上了年紀的人，通常不會因做過的事後悔；卻常因在年輕時，未曾去做自己想做的事而遺憾，只有心懷悔恨的人，會恐懼死亡。』

那年底，蘿絲終於完成她的大學學業。
畢業後一星期，她在睡夢中安祥去逝。
超過2千名同學參加她的葬禮。
我們聚在一起，向這位以身教教導我們：只要下定決心，不管年紀多大都可以實現夢想…

The first day of school our professor introduced himself and challenged us to get to know someone we didn't already know. I stood up to look around when a gentle hand touched my shoulder.

I turned round to find a wrinkled, little old lady beaming up at me with a smile that lit up her entire being.

She said, "Hi handsome. My name is Rose.

I'm eighty-seven years old. Can I give you a hug?"

I laughed and enthusiastically responded, "Of course you may!" and she gave me a giant squeeze.

"Why are you in college at such a young, innocent age?" I asked.

She jokingly replied, "I'm here to meet a rich husband, get married, and have a couple of kids..."

"No seriously," I asked. I was curious what may have motivated her to be taking on this challenge at her age.

"I always dreamed of having a college education and now I'm getting one!" she told me.

After class we walked to the student union building and shared a chocolate milkshake.

We became instant friends. Every day for the next three months we would leave class together and talk nonstop. I was always mesmerized listening to this "time machine" as she shared her wisdom and experience with me.

Over the course of the year, Rose became a campus icon and she easily made friends wherever she went.

She loved to dress up and she reveled in the attention bestowed upon her from the other students. She was living it up.

At the end of the semester we invited Rose to speak at our football banquet.

I'll never forget what she taught us. She was introduced and stepped up to the podium. As she began to deliver her prepared speech, she dropped her three by five cards on the floor.

Frustrated and a little embarrassed she leaned into the microphone and simply said, "I'm sorry I'm so jittery. I gave up beer for Lent and this

whiskey is killing me! I'll never get my speech back in order so let me just tell you what I know."

As we laughed she cleared her throat and began, "We do not stop playing because we are old; we grow old because we stop playing.

There are only four secrets to staying young, being happy, and achieving success. You have to laugh and find humor every day. You've got to have a dream. When you lose your dreams, you die.

We have so many people walking around who are dead and don't even know it!

There is a huge difference between growing older and growing up.

If you are nineteen years old and lie in bed for one full year and don't do one productive thing, you will turn twenty years old. If I am eighty-seven years old and stay in bed for a year and never do anything I will turn eighty-eight.

Anybody can grow older. That doesn't take any talent or ability. The idea is to grow up by always finding opportunity in change. Have no regrets.

The elderly usually don't have regrets for what we did, but rather for things we did not do. The only people who fear death are those with

regrets."

She concluded her speech by courageously singing "The Rose."

She challenged each of us to study the lyrics and live them out in our daily lives.

At the year's end Rose finished the college degree she had begun all those years ago.

One week after graduation Rose died peacefully in her sleep.

Over two thousand college students attended her funeral in tribute to the wonderful woman who taught by example that it's never too late to be all you can possibly be.

今天是5/1 Labor's Day! 大家都辛苦了
Valen覺得全世界最辛苦的"勞工"就是媽媽了, 媽媽是個365天, 24小時不打烊的工作, 不管孩子多大了, 是否在身邊, 媽媽的心永遠和孩子緊密相聯者, Valen也有一個好媽媽, 她單純,可愛,直率又感性, 她就是我心裡世界最棒的媽媽:)

下週日就是母親節了, 跟大家分享一首2011發行的歌曲" Butterfly Baby", 是一位澳洲的音樂人也是母親" Angelina Perete和女兒Estee一起合唱的歌曲,整首歌曲的旋律好溫柔cozy, 哼唱的感覺也很像大家都喜歡的音樂人Jason Morz的歌曲, 而且這首歌曲背後還有很多美麗的故事, Butterfly Baby不但只是一首歌曲, 他們還致力於"預防母親懷孕前後造成的病發症" 的研究, 希望讓大家了解baby在母親母體發展的每一個珍貴的進程, 這首歌曲也是為了推動這項計劃! How beautiful song
( With your help we can better understand how our precious babies devel-op and why some babies recover better than others when tragedies occur. Every year the Butterfly Ball supports research being performed by the Perinatal Research Centre (PRC—link to PRC website). )

Lyrics歌詞:

Butterfly Baby By Angelina Perete
(sang by Angelina Perete and her daughter Estee)

Fly,fly little butterfly,
got me curious when you fly by
where you're from, and where you're going
Did anyone ask Why?

Mommy loves me That's Forever
Daddy's worry When I get older
I'm just wondering' How far i'll see
How clever i could be...

Mommy. mommy look what I can do
I can dance and sing real loud for you
how i move now... you can see..
Oh I hope you'll be proud of me

oh baby, baby...You're my pride and joy,
you make me feel..Like I'm the Queen of troy
When you're happy... sun will shine
Oh we're wrapped up in this moment of time

Here you are, my darling little girl,
There are joy and pain in this world
When you're ready, the truth you will be told,
I'll let you know

but for now, you and your brothers
Fill you lives with love for each other
One you've grown you're flying together,
My love protects you dears

Mommy. mommy look what i can do
I can dance and sing real loud for you
how i move now...you can see..
oh I hope you'll be proud of me

oh baby, baby...You're my pride and joy,
You make me feel..Like I'm the Queen of troy
When you're happy...sun will shine
Oh we're wrapped up in this moment of time

dooo, dooo, dooo, doo , doo~
oh baby, baby, oh baby, baby ~

Mommy. mommy look what i can do
I can dance and sing real loud for you
how i move now...you can see..
oh i hope you'll be proud of me

Oh baby, baby...You're my pride and joy,
You make me feel..Like I'm the Queen of troy
When you're happy...sun will shine
Oh we're wrapped up in this moment of time

la, la, la, la, la, la~~

Oh we're wrapped up in this moment of time..
doo,doo,doo,doo,doo,doo
Oh we're wrapped up in this moment of time...

Nobody’s Fool　　( January 2011 )

Yoshitomo Nara

Do people look to my childhood for sources of my imagery? Back then, the snow-covered fields of the north were about as far away as you could get from the rapid economic growth happening elsewhere. Both my parents worked and my brothers were much older, so the only one home to greet me when I got back from elementary school was a stray cat we’d taken in. Even so, this was the center of my world. In my lonely room, I would twist the radio dial to the American military base station and out blasted rock and roll music. One of history’s first man-made satellites revolved around me up in the night sky. There I was, in touch with the stars and radio waves.

It doesn’t take much imagination to envision how a lonely childhood in such surroundings might give rise to the sensibility in my work. In fact, I also used to believe in this connection. I would close my eyes and conjure childhood scenes, letting my imagination amplify them like the music coming from my speakers.

But now, past the age of fifty and more cool-headed, I’ve begun to wonder how big a role childhood plays in making us who we are as adults. Looking through reproductions of the countless works I’ve made between my late twenties and now, I get the feeling that childhood experiences were merely a catalyst. My art derives less from the self-centered instincts of childhood than from the day-to-day sensory experiences of an adult who has left this realm behind. And, ultimately, taking the big steps pales in importance to the daily need to keep on walking.

While I was in high school, before I had anything to do with art, I worked part-time in a rock café. There I became friends with a graduate student of mathematics who one day started telling me, in layman’s terms, about his major in topology. His explanation made the subject seem less like a branch of mathematics than some fascinating organic philosophy. My understanding is that topology offers you a way to discover the underlying sameness of countless, seemingly disparate, forms. Conversely, it explains why many people, when confronted with apparently identical things, will accept a fake as the genuine article. I later went on to study art, live in Germany, and travel around the world, and the broader perspective I’ve gained has shown me that topology has long been a subtext of my thinking. The more we add complexity, the more we obscure what is truly valuable. Perhaps the reason I began, in the mid-90s, trying to make paintings as simple as possible stems from that introduction to topology gained in my youth.

As a kid listening to U.S. armed-forces radio, I had no idea what the lyrics meant, but I loved the melody and rhythm of the music. In junior high school, my friends and I were already discussing rock and roll like credible music critics, and by the time I started high school, I was hanging out in rock coffee shops and going to live shows. We may have been a small group of social outcasts, but the older kids, who smoked cigarettes and drank, talked to us all night long about movies they’d seen or books they’d read. If the nighttime student quarter had been the school, I’m sure I would have been a straight-A student.

In the 80s, I left my hometown to attend art school, where I was anything but an honors student. There, a model student was one who brought a researcher’s focus to the work at hand. Your bookshelves were stacked with catalogues and reference materials. When you weren’t working away in your studio, you were meeting with like-minded classmates to discuss art past and present, including your own. You were hoping to set new trends in motion. Wholly lacking any grand ambition, I fell well short of this model, with most of my paintings done to satisfy class assignments. I was, however, filling every one of my notebooks, sketchbooks, and scraps of wrapping paper with crazy, graffiti-like drawings.

Looking back on my younger days—Where did where all that sparkling energy go? I used the money from part-time jobs to buy record albums instead of art supplies and catalogues. I went to movies and concerts, hung out with my girlfriend, did funky drawings on paper, and made midnight raids on friends whose boarding-room lights still happened to be on. I spent the passions of my student days outside the school studio. This is not to say I wasn’t envious of the kids who earned the teachers’ praise or who debuted their talents in early exhibitions. Maybe envy is the wrong word. I guess I had the feeling that we were living in separate worlds. Like puffs of cigarette smoke or the rock songs from my speaker, my adolescent energies all vanished in the sky.

Being outside the city and surrounded by rice fields, my art school had no art scene to speak of—I imagined the art world existing in some unknown dimension, like that of TV or the movies. At the time, art could only be discussed in a Western context, and, therefore, seemed unreal. But just as every country kid dreams of life in the big city, this shaky art-school student had visions of the dazzling, far-off realm of contemporary art. Along with this yearning was an equally strong belief that I didn’t deserve admittance to such a world. A typical provincial underachiever!

I did, however, love to draw every day and the scrawled sketches, never shown to anybody, started piling up. Like journal entries reflecting the events of each day, they sometimes intersected memories from the past. My little everyday world became a trigger for the imagination, and I learned to develop and capture the imagery that arose. I was, however, still a long way off from being able to translate those countless images from paper to canvas.

Visions come to us through daydreams and fantasies. Our emotional reaction towards these images makes them real. Listening to my record collection gave me a similar experience. Before the Internet, the precious little information that did exist was to be found in the two or three music magazines available. Most of my records were imported—no liner notes or lyric sheets in Japanese. No matter how much I liked the music, living in a non-English speaking world sadly meant limited access to the meaning of the lyrics. The music came from a land of societal, religious, and subcultural sensibilities apart from my own, where people moved their bodies to it in a different rhythm. But that didn’t stop me from loving it. I never got tired of poring over every inch of the record jackets on my 12-inch vinyl LPs. I took the sounds and verses into my body. Amidst today’s superabundance of information, choosing music is about how best to single out the right album. For me, it was about making the most use of scant information to sharpen my sensibilities, imagination, and conviction. It might be one verse, melody, guitar riff, rhythmic drum beat or bass line, or record jacket that would inspire me and conjure up fresh imagery. Then, with pencil in hand, I would draw these images on paper, one after the other. Beyond good or bad, the pictures had a will of their own, inhabiting the torn pages with freedom and friendliness.

By the time I graduated from university, my painting began to approach the independence of my drawing. As a means for me to represent a world that was mine and mine alone, the paintings may not have been as nimble as the drawings, but I did them without any preliminary sketching. Prizing feelings that arose as I worked, I just kept painting and over-painting until I gained a certain freedom and the sense, though vague at the time, that I had established a singular way of putting images onto canvas. Yet, I hadn’t reached the point where I could declare that I would paint for the rest of my life.

After receiving my undergraduate degree, I entered the graduate school of my university and got a part-time job teaching at an art yobiko—a prep school for students seeking entrance to an art college. As an instructor, training students how to look at and compose things artistically, meant that I also had to learn how to verbalize my thoughts and feelings. This significant growth experience not only allowed me to take stock of my life at the time, but also provided a refreshing opportunity to connect with teenage hearts and minds.

And idealism! Talking to groups of art students, I naturally found myself describing the ideals of an artist. A painful experience for me—I still had no sense of myself as an artist. The more the students showed their affection for me, the more I felt like a failed artist masquerading as a sensei (teacher). After completing my graduate studies, I kept working as a yobiko instructor. And in telling students about the path to becoming an artist, I began to realize that I was still a student myself, with many things yet to learn. I felt that I needed to become a true art student. I decided to study in Germany. The day I left the city where I had long lived, many of my students appeared on the platform to see me off.

Life as a student in Germany was a happy time. I originally intended to go to London, but for economic reasons chose a tuition-free, and, fortunately, academism-free German school. Personal approaches coexisted with conceptual ones, and students tried out a wide range of modes of expression. Technically speaking, we were all students, but each of us brought a creator’s spirit to the fore. The strong wills and opinions of the local students, though, were well in place before they became artists thanks to the German system of early education. As a reticent foreign student from a far-off land, I must have seemed like a mute child. I decided that I would try to make myself understood not through words, but through having people look at my pictures. When winter came and leaden clouds filled the skies, I found myself slipping back to the winters of my childhood. Forgoing attempts to speak in an unknown language, I redoubled my efforts to express myself through visions of my private world. Thinking rather than talking, then illustrating this thought process in drawings and, finally, realizing it in a painting. Instead of defeating you in an argument, I wanted to invite you inside me. Here I was, in a most unexpected place, rediscovering a value that I thought I had lost—I felt that I had finally gained the ability to learn and think, that I had become a student in the truest sense of the word.

But I still wasn’t your typical honors student. My paintings clearly didn’t look like contemporary art, and nobody would say my images fit in the context of European painting. They did, however, catch the gaze of dealers who, with their antennae out for young artists, saw my paintings as new objects that belonged less to the singular world of art and more to the realm of everyday life. Several were impressed by the freshness of my art, and before I knew it, I was invited to hold exhibitions in established galleries—a big step into a wider world.

The six years that I spent in Germany after completing my studies and before returning to Japan were golden days, both for me and my work. Every day and every night, I worked tirelessly to fix onto canvas all the visions that welled up in my head. My living space/studio was in a dreary, concrete former factory building on the outskirts of Cologne. It was the center of my world. Late at night, my surroundings were enveloped in darkness, but my studio was brightly lit. The songs of folk poets flowed out of my speakers. In that place, standing in front of the canvas sometimes felt like traveling on a solitary voyage in outer space—a lonely little spacecraft floating in the darkness of the void. My spaceship could go anywhere in this fantasy while I was painting, even to the edge of the universe.

Suddenly one day, I was flung outside—my spaceship was to be scrapped. My little vehicle turned back into an old concrete building, one that was slated for destruction because it was falling apart. Having lost the spaceship that had accompanied me on my lonely travels, and lacking the energy to look for a new studio, I immediately decided that I might as well go back to my homeland. It was painful and sad to leave the country where I had lived for twelve years and the handful of people I could call friends. But I had lost my ship. The only place I thought to land was my mother country, where long ago those teenagers had waved me goodbye and, in retrospect, whose letters to me while I was in Germany were a valuable source of fuel.

After my long space flight, I returned to Japan with the strange sense of having made a full orbit around the planet. The new studio was a little warehouse on the outskirts of Tokyo, in an area dotted with rice fields and small factories. When the wind blew, swirls of dust slipped in through the cracks, and water leaked down the walls in heavy rains. In my dilapidated warehouse, only one sheet of corrugated metal separated me from the summer heat and winter cold. Despite the funky environment, I was somehow able to keep in midnight contact with the cosmos—the beings I had drawn and painted in Germany began to mature. The emotional quality of the earlier work gave way to a new sense of composure. I worked at refining the former impulsiveness of the drawings and the monochromatic, almost reverent, backgrounds of the paintings. In my pursuit of fresh imagery, I switched from idle experimentation to a more workmanlike approach towards capturing what I saw beyond the canvas.

Children and animals—what simple motifs! Appearing on neat canvases or in ephemeral drawings, these figures are easy on the viewers’ eyes. Occasionally, they shake off my intentions and leap to the feet of their audience, never to return. Because my motifs are accessible, they are often only understood on a superficial level. Sometimes art that results from a long process of development receives only shallow general acceptance, and those who should be interpreting it fail to do so, either through a lack of knowledge or insufficient powers of expression. Take, for example, the music of a specific era. People who lived during this era will naturally appreciate the music that was then popular. Few of these listeners, however, will know, let alone value, the music produced by minor labels, by introspective musicians working under the radar, because it’s music that’s made in answer to an individual’s desire, not the desires of the times. In this way, people who say that “Nara loves rock,” or “Nara loves punk” should see my album collection. Of four thousand records there are probably fewer than fifty punk albums. I do have a lot of 60s and 70s rock and roll, but most of my music is from little labels that never saw commercial success—traditional roots music by black musicians and white musicians, and contemplative folk. The spirit of any era gives birth to trends and fashions as well as their opposite: countless introspective individual worlds. A simultaneous embrace of both has cultivated my sensibility and way of thinking. My artwork is merely the tip of the iceberg that is my self. But if you analyzed the DNA from this tip, you would probably discover a new way of looking at my art. My viewers become a true audience when they take what I’ve made and make it their own. That’s the moment the works gain their freedom, even from their maker.

After contemplative folk singers taught me about deep empathy, the punk rockers schooled me in explosive expression.

I was born on this star, and I’m still breathing. Since childhood, I’ve been a jumble of things learned and experienced and memories that can’t be forgotten. Their involuntary locomotion is my inspiration. I don’t express in words the contents of my work. I’ll only tell you my history. The countless stories living inside my work would become mere fabrications the moment I put them into words. Instead, I use my pencil to turn them into pictures. Standing before the dark abyss, here’s hoping my spaceship launches safely tonight….

BILLbilly01 cover of I Took A Pill In Ibiza by Mike Posner (SeeB Remix) featuring Violette Wautier.
For more BILLbilly01 covers, click here! http://bit.ly/1WdURD6
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Special Thanks to Violette Wautier
(Shes Awesome!!!, check out her channel!)

Youtube: http://www.youtube.com/user/VioletteWautier
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/Violettethevoice
Instagram: http://www.instagram.com/VioletteWautier

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Lyrics:

I took a pill in Ibiza
To show Avicii I was cool
And when I finally got sober, felt 10 years older
But fuck it, it was something to do
I'm living out in LA
I drive a sports car just to prove
I'm a real big baller 'cause I made a million dollars
And I spend it on clothes and shoes

But you don't wanna be high like me
Never really knowing why like me
You don't ever wanna step off that roller coaster and be all alone
You don't wanna ride the bus like this
Never knowing who to trust like this
You don't wanna be stuck up on that stage singing
Stuck up on that stage singing
All I know are sad songs, sad songs
Darling, all I know are sad songs, sad songs

I'm just a singer who already blew her shot
I get along with old timers
'Cause my name's a reminder of a pop song people forgot

But you don't wanna be high like me
Never really knowing why like me
You don't ever wanna step off that roller coaster and be all alone
You don't wanna ride the bus like this
Never knowing who to trust like this
You don't wanna be stuck up on that stage singing
Stuck up on that stage singing
All I know are sad songs, sad songs
Darling, all I know are sad songs, sad songs

Official BILLbilly01 cover of Closer by The Chainsmokers featuring Alyn and Emma.
For more BILLbilly01 covers, click here! http://bit.ly/1WdURD6
New videos every Saturday make sure to Subscribe for more! http://bit.ly/1q4Bsqr

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Check out Alyn

YouTube: http://www.youtube.com/alynwee
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Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/babelfish531

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║╚╣║║║╚╣╚╣╔╣╔╣║╚╣═╣
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Lyrics:

Hey, I was doing just fine before I met you
I drink too much and that's an issue
But I'm OK
Hey, you tell your friends it was nice to meet them
But I hope I never see them
Again

I know it breaks your heart
Moved to the city in a broke-down car
And four years, no calls
Now you're looking pretty in a hotel bar
And I, I, I, I, I can't stop
No, I, I, I, I, I can't stop

So, baby, pull me closer
In the back seat of your Rover
That I know you can't afford
Bite that tattoo on your shoulder
Pull the sheets right off the corner
Of that mattress that you stole
From your roommate back in Boulder
We ain't ever getting older

We ain't ever getting older
We ain't ever getting older

You look as good as the day I met you
I forget just why I left you,
I was insane
Stay and play that Blink-182 song
That we beat to death in Tucson,
OK

I know it breaks your heart
Moved to the city in a broke-down car
And four years, no call
Now I'm looking pretty in a hotel bar
And I, I, I, I, I can't stop
No, I, I, I, I, I can't stop

So, baby, pull me closer
In the back seat of your Rover
That I know you can't afford
Bite that tattoo on your shoulder
Pull the sheets right off the corner
Of that mattress that you stole
From your roommate back in Boulder
We ain't ever getting older

We ain't ever getting older
We ain't ever getting older

#AnDyWuMUSICLAND Mashup 2016 “We Were Young” (Best 90 Pop Songs of 2016)
Music & Video Mashed by AnDy Wu

Lyrics Video (w/ Song tags): https://youtu.be/Tq8vnRkxoOQ
Lyrics: http://bit.ly/2fH7uI1

90 Songs playlist: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLXP2d2aQquxYnRjfIdvTXAj7gSuBP_YjY
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Remember when I got my first toy, played with it & cherished it for a long time; walking out with my friends, chasing each other under the sunshine; holding hands, kissing my love for the first time.

Sometimes I wished I could freeze these moments. But life keeps going on and on, we all get old, and we can’t hold on to everything. Every time we lose something or somebody we love is a lesson to help us see the meaning of life. Years after, the pain would fade away. By then, all we have left would be some bright gleaming glossy pearls in our hearts. Not only have we grown old, but also grown up. Reminiscence would be the best & only way to take ourselves back to those good old days. In the end, we let go, and live better right here, right now.

"True love brought salvation back into me. With every tear came redemption, my torture became my remedy. — Beyoncé, Lemonade (Film)"

We were young, but we ain’t ever getting older.

#WeWereYoung #Mashup2016 #AnDyWuMUSICLAND
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In memoriam at the end of the video -- Prince (1958-2016), David Bowie (1957-2016), Christina Grimmie (1994-2016)
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Software I used:
Ableton Live Suite (music), Final Cut Pro (video)