These are the times/ making lives, waking wise/ but slumbering eyes/ the surprise ahead what lies/

The seasons present a perfect balance/ but my existence over the last years has grown so calloused/ it's a challenge, trying to siege the palace/ that for so long has held my dream/ wedged so tight between day and night, I scream/ for these moments to last all of/ autumn, or at least until the lake is icing/ old mother winter hated by some teams/ sneaks herself in as leaves fall, between sunbeams/ runs me, back in the scene when I had a large bay window/ but no door to close/ funny how the small things are less important now/ this is why I plead for the sun not to go down/ round brown patches/ lasted, til broken by children's laughs and kicks/ putting myself through this joy and not having time to do it feels masochistic/ I guess I can safely say, I know what a past time is kids/

These are the times/ making lives, waking wise/ but slumbering eyes/ the surprise ahead what lies/

She's the type I'd like to ask out after I said hello/ that would give her a chance to spell no, i.e. hell no/ and I'm a good hearted fellow, but sometimes I bellow/ so I play it Mark Twain cool and hide behind this Mellow Yellow, and grimace/ cuz I don't like the flavor or the image, shiftless/ from high fructose corn syrup and carbonic acid/ nor am I a caffeine addict, but those asterisks/ get my social statuses ass kicked, go ahead just ask it/ so this is where growth is, finding out where hope lives/ knocking on its door and asking if you can quote it/ asses and begin to change motives/ like rejecting, the biggest lie we tell our adolescent/ children, is the best time in life is when you're personality building/ because we are unwilling, to make our inner children, not villains/ spilling on the parchment, within the bounds of regretful teenagers hardships/ (I'm in like my mid-twenties)

These are the times/ making lives, waking wise/ but slumbering eyes/ the surprise ahead what lies/