Red rover, red rover, we call Maturity over.
To interrupt our childish games
and fill our minds with growing flames.
From which will call the barrier to rise
the intervention between our imagination and our eyes.
And from our eyes where tears still fall
we miss the tears we could forget most of all.
For if we knew that while we played
we were merely creating memories meant to fade.
We'd have kept them closer to our hearts
and fought the dark, each doing our parts.
Surely if we saw how quickly time pushed us along
we would have pushed back harder and strong.
Red rover, red rover, we've realized too late that
our childhoods are over.