Sixteen

Sweep the dirt under your rug, you're on your drug

And then it hits me

It's paregoric in my head, I'm all doped-up

And just a babyDoing just fine

You're making up your mind at sixteenI'm all grown up and what I know

It isn't from your mouth

And now I'm confused 'cuz you don't talk

Or wonder what I thinkI'm standing here and still I cannot hear you

My passion's locked inside me, divulging your imperative

For during, though it's easy, a hundred years of therapy

Thanks, thanks anyway, I'll soon be leaving