I don't remember last July.
I don't remember much about last summer, really.
I do remember that the fireworks were on the beach,
and that I accidentally told the truth
when I was supposed to tell a lie.
I remember that if I were to leave my heart
in a box beside your bed,
I would make it say: "Never fear the smoke."
Because waking up after the fireworks
means you always miss the show.
After all these years,
I still love every color.
After all these years,
I still don't like the sounds.
And I'll remember that we watched
an action movie when I wanted to sleep
and that I nearly drowned my sorrow in a literal river.
I guess when I think of humanity
and freedom, I see the graves.
There's so many who are dead,
for all of us who barely live.
So in this year of 'eighteen days till eighteen',
I guess it is time to grow up.
Stop throwing poppers at my sister's feet.
Stop spelling my name in cursive
because sparklers run out too fast.
I guess it is time to say that maybe,
just maybe;
I want to run away to Neverland.
I bet the Lost Boys have fireworks.
