| Her right hand closed the front porch door
|
| Suddenly a child no more
|
| All the ribbons all the bows in a box now on her closet floor
|
| Anxious for whats to come
|
| Afraid to leave a place she loves
|
| She’s not a woman, not a girl
|
| Trying to find her place in this crazy world
|
| Meet a lover, make a friend
|
| Try and figure out what this life really means
|
| After 17
|
| Broken hearts and rusted dreams
|
| Sometimes make it hard to leave and
|
| Certainty is out of reach even with some self belief
|
| So she bites her lip and shows a smile
|
| Flips her hair and flaunts her style
|
| She’s not a woman, not a girl
|
| Trying to find her place in this crazy world
|
| Meet a lover, make a friend
|
| Try and figure out what this life really means
|
| After 17
|
| Her memories she stowed away
|
| Pulls them out on rainy days
|
| And brand new faces take their place beside the ones that never fade
|
| She’s strong and fragile, weak and smart
|
| Whatever the cost she plays the part
|
| She’s not a woman, not a girl
|
| Trying to find her place in this crazy world
|
| Meet a lover, make a friend
|
| Try and figure out what this life really means
|
| After 17
|
| After 17
|
| Her right hand closed the front porch door
|
| And suddenly a child no more |