When I was young, they would look at me and say "Who ever heard of a kid With his feet in the clouds And his head so far away you don't even know Where to look for it?" They saw that crazy energy in my heart And those weird ideas in my head And they looked at me and said "A kid like that Could never succeed in school Because he's too wrapped up in imagination." So I decided they were wrong And I poured my soul into it And when I had something I felt I could be proud of I brought it forward And they looked at that perfect test and said "Whoever heard of a kid So proud of some story he wrote For some silly exam That he wanted to show off?" They saw my happiness Over this thing they thiught so trivial And they laughed And they said "A kid like that is proud of all The wrong things in life He still doesn't have his feet on the ground He's still too crazy." And so I, determined to be what I thought I should Looked at myself And took stock of the things they Thought were silly And I put them in a little wooden box With a little iron lock And little black letters on top that read "A kid" And I marched off to be something that They had led me to believe Was better. When I got there and started to toil To pour ny heart and soul And all that I could into this work They looked and me and said "How can some teenager Ever work this hard Without stopping To be a kid?" And they sneered at me and pointed and said "There must be something wrong with him." So I took a few things Out of my box Being sure to lock it again And when they saw these new old things And watched me using them They scowled, and shot me distateful Looks And they turned to each other and said "He just wants to have fun How is that going to help him? He ought to act more Mature." And I, now at my wits end Broke my back and sacrificed sleep For coffee and textbooks I, now at my wits end Sacrificed long summer nights for hours Spent staring at a screen Straining my lifeless eyes To work when I should have been playing. And I returned to them With all my achievments in hand All my worldly work And they looked down at the pile And they said "Shouldn't you try to have fun?" And finally I lifted my headAnd I looked at them and at their Bitter looks Hollow eyes Their tight mouths And unhappy, looming brows And I asked myself "Why do I want to be What they say I should? Where did it ever get them?" And I dropped my things and ran home And prayed I was not too late I pulled out my little wooden box With the little iron lock And the black letters that read "A kid" And I picked up the things inside And gathered them out away from the box And back into me When I was done there was a little part of my soul Where there had once been a hole And in little black letters across the front It read "A kid" And I smiled once more Now wholy sure That I could always, in some way be A kid