Drawing pictures on blank paper,
That's still white even after the crayon kisses it.
I feel like I'm five, but I know I'm not,
Though I really wish I was,
Because I know five-year-olds don't know of this feeling.
If I ever get a choice, I'll buy a firetruck, convertible, or the Bat Mobile.
Maybe I will, when I reach five again.
I had this dream that I was in space,
And all the planets were there,
But your face is what I called home.
And everyone else, I think, was there.
My Grandfather, Mitchell, and the sound of his voice.
When I was five, I never thought that this would happen.
Bruce Wayne can't stop these killers,
And my firetruck won't put this fire out.
So let's just say I'm in New York, or still stuck in Louisville,
With that familiar wind that probably blew me away before.
I'm gonna get a new guitar, and when I do I'll play you this song,
That I wrote down with a broken crayon.
I'm still convinced that I'm in space,
And everything turned dark, and then your face,
Which I never thought would black out with the brilliance of your smile.
I guess it's good to say I haven't felt this way for a while.
Drawing pictures on cluttered paper,
It all is getting blacker the more I draw.
I hope five-year-olds don't feel this way too often.
And we'll ride in the Bat Mobile, but 'til then I'm not five.
Because I'm not five, five year-olds don't know this feeling,
Atleast we hope.
