North of July, South of Neverland

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.