| And I’ll turn eighteen on a Sunday
|
| And it’ll be the day I’ve waited for
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| Mom will bake cake and there’ll be presents
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| Like there always was before
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| But if time keeps moving just like this
|
| Then it won’t be soon before I’m old
|
| And they will all be wishing they could just be kids like us
|
| And they will all be wishing they could just be kids like us
|
| But I’m getting older with each day
|
| And soon, I’ll be wishing, too
|
| And on the eve of my fifth birthday
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| When my father found me in tears
|
| And I’ve always been fearless
|
| But scared of oncoming years
|
| And he tried to make it alright
|
| And he told me not to cry
|
| And they will all be wishing they could just be kids like us
|
| And they will all be wishing they could just be kids like us
|
| But I’m getting older with each day
|
| And soon, I’ll be wishing, too
|
| It’s easy to remember
|
| When everything was calm
|
| Two hands on the bike I rode
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| Just me and my mom
|
| But I haven’t rode in a long while
|
| Because I drive most of the time
|
| And they will all be wishing they could just be kids like us
|
| And they will all be wishing they could just be kids like us
|
| But I’m getting older with each day
|
| And soon, I’ll be wishing, too
|
| And soon, I’ll be wishing, too |