Sweep the dirt under your rug
|
You’re on your drug, and then it hits me
|
It’s paregoric in my head, I’m all doped-up
|
And just a baby
|
Doing just fine, you’re making up your mind…16
|
I’m all grown up and what I know
|
It isn’t from your mouth
|
And now I’m confused ‘cuz you don’t talk
|
Or wonder what I think
|
I’m standing here and still I cannot hear you
|
My passion’s locked inside me
|
Divulging your imperative
|
For during, though, it’s easy (?)
|
A hundred years of therapy
|
Thanks, thanks anyway, I’ll soon be leaving
|
|
-----------------
|
Sixteen
|
| Sebadoh |
