7 years of childhood
Never did grow up
Old coffee syrup in an empty cup
I was never understood
I’m an old kid in a wrinkled suit
Life’s voice is dull and quiet
The news a gentle riot
In the kitchen eating fruit
Monuments in kitchen doors
Everybody getting laid
Mommies pimps and daddies whores
As candles burn the soft crusade
It seems like life is a bit less real
Death wanders across the plain
And a very dull pain that I can’t quite feel
Here I’m staring in the mirror again
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