I love this one. You know it has become fashionable to say, "I am still a child inside me.". And believe most of the time you have a sniggering idiot, who is just waiting for you to turn your back to the child. But when there truly is a child, you will not see him. Because he is a child. And children don't advertise. So what happens is this, and people thing otherwise.
Once I was a little one, but I'm grown up now.
The world is the same and different, dunno somehow.
Cant lay my hands on it, cannot describe
But yeah things are different and dunno why.
Same old people, same old situations,
Same old voices, cant see what has changed.
For the facades are the same, them that appear to the eye
But the fences are there, strung taut across all paths.
And when I talk, the faces blabber, in search of speech.
With words struggling, under hidden agendas
I hear them words, and I see them mouth it
I don't hear meanings, and I don't see them mean it.
I know it cannot be black and white, but what I fear
Is the dull grey, stretching across grinning faces and
Frozen smiles, twisting meanings and cloaking emotions.
A grey old blanket, covering all that is adult.
Driven to distraction, in this world of adult,
The child reaches out to reach and touch and feel.
Uncomprehending, stung and rebuked, I withdraw
To the comfort and protection of my fetal sleep.
But when you talk to me, and wake those gentle emotions,
And ask a question, I know I have to answer,
I grin a plastic smile, stretching and cloaking
And mouth the words, "don't be a child.".