Sixteen

Sweep the dirt under your rug

You're on your drug, and then it hits me

It's paregoric in my head, I'm all doped-up

And just a baby

Doing just fine, you're making up your mind…16

I'm all grown up and what I know

It isn't from your mouth

And now I'm confused ‘cuz you don't talk

Or wonder what I think

I'm standing here and still I cannot hear you

My passion's locked inside me

Divulging your imperative

For during, though, it's easy

A hundred years of therapy

Thanks, thanks anyway, I'll soon be leaving