Some people see me as a rusty old pile,
A heap of junk, just rotting away.
In a field somewhere forgotten.
Other's who look at me see memories of their past.
A drive into town, with the one that they love.
Down the street of memory lane.
Yet there are others who see the potential still within.
Strong hard lines, long swooping curves.
What I can be once more.
Different people will see things in different ways
A rusty pile, a beautiful gem.
Perception is never the same.
Next time you see me in a field somewhere,
Remember to you I am a rusty heap.
But to the woman next door,
A bunch of memories.
And the next man that walks by,
A gem waiting to be restored.