Another year living, another day gone,
The past isn't giving the wisdom I want.

I'm searching for answers, I lay in the rain, I stare at the moon while I'm begging for change.

My face is now creased, from years of worry, I laugh at my young wish to grow up in a hurry.

The right answers never come, I grieve over wrong choices, I'll stay in my bed berated by these voices.

And it's October, but the leaves are still green, the seasons aren't seasons and I am not me.

Twenty seven I might be, but fourteen I still feel, I look at the life I've built but none of it seems real.