You tell me you’ve lost all your dreams
 You tell me you don’t believe
 You tell me that you’re growing old
 You tell me your story’s been told
 
 And I
 I don’t believe
 
 We are paintings on a wall
 We can’t get down to break your fall
 But we see you from behind our painted eyes
 Lines and colors, you won’t recognize
 
 And I
 I don’t believe
 
 You’re kissing dreams away
 Shutting curtains on your stage
 But tell me is this what you call growing old?