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Across an ocean of stars, Above a mountain of garbage. I'll show you the scars, And my hollow of Solace.
Childish days begin to fade As everything begins to change And I cannot remain the same My friends are becoming so strange Obsessed with proving they're mature And letting their youth estrange
All in all I'm pretty good I listen and learn as I should. But I'm far from mature So you can be sure That I'll giggle when you say touch wood.
I have seen him weep and I have seen him cry and I have seen him in the throws of victory and ecstasy. Yet, Yet I look at him now, broken and crippled and old. And I see sadness in his eyes.