the child in me wanted to touch stars
now i fear looking up into the night

the little girl i was read too much
now i grow weary of too many letters

i look for things to fill my pocket
instead of things to fill my soul

i think of survival in a capital of greed
than happiness in a world of wonder

i don't want this

i don't want this

let there be ware on my bones
and sullen age in my old eyes
if that is the price of pursing dreams
at the end of a fulfilled life