I hated that age
Thirteen, what a stage, Oh, thirteen, what a shame, Hiding sorrows under a paper crown, Blowing out the candles with an imaginary frown, Not the first one, not the last one, Every flame that dies flickers on her eye, Every moment in time just stays the same, Oh, she’s thirteen, and she knows nothing but knows more than she should, But when she speaks, she’s misunderstood, Too young to die but too old to cry, But doesn’t even know why, What made her so experienced? Oh thirteen, she’s that age, No more flying paper airplanes, Oh thirteen, her thoughts trapped in a cage, Not the first one, never the last one, That gets locked behind, Thirteen, the year she learned to write, Thirteen, the world isn’t as bright, Not the first, it isn’t the last time, That she feels alone in this fight, Too young to die, but too old to cry, How wrong can a right person be, Too young to understand, too old for a castle made of sand, How long will it take to be free, Because when she speaks, she’s misunderstood, But doesn’t even know the voice that follows her around, Thirteen, it’s a shame, How a little girl can become an adult so quickly.
