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When you talk about your home life, |
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I try to identify |
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With my own memories, childhood life was such a breeze |
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But now I'm slipping away from the boy my mother made |
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I'm growing on but |
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I hold on to the days that made me fell so |
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Powerless and ignorant without a cent, without the sense to know |
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That one day |
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I would have to try to survive and go |
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First time you gotta leave your home, second time you live alone |
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Third time you just don't know, fourth time you gotta pack your life and go |
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On the day my father died, |
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I was too naive to cry |
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Inside I was so unclear, |
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I always thought he's reappear |
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But now I'm slipping away from the lost child he made |
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I'm growing but |
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I hold on to his name and to the days |
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Of innocence and selfishness, |
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I find these things impossible to shake |
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But I won't break, until |
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I take, take a fucking chance and go |
