We Aren't Peter Pan

Memories of the cul de sac
A suburban nightingale
Who tended to the adolescents
Not ready to grow up

The scent and stains of fresh cut grass
Fills the lungs and dirties the soul
Running in the road and playing chicken
With cars going 15 miles an hour

Swimming in a puddle of water
Searching the depths of the inches
Riding bikes down the hill
We swore was bigger than Everest

That old house next to yours
We’d sneak into, late at night
And dream summer would overtake fall
We’d never worry of the celestial change

A decade must’ve knocked me out cold
Cause I woke up, and I was long gone
From the neighborhood womb
In a city without a name

My features are of an old young man
Fighting with the misery of the chemicals
And I can’t even recognize you anymore
Your face doesn’t stand out in a crowd

We can’t have what’s buried in the dust
The cul de sac has become a minefield
To go back would take away your life
Since the present couldn’t compare