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I Hate That I Can Touch The Ceiling In My Bathroom Walls
I hate that I can touch the ceiling in my bathroom walls.
I hate that eerie lonesome feeling that I'm getting tall.
I hate how e'erything now is small and how I've grown so high.
I hate how petty tiffs are teeming and I'm asking "Why"
I love that I can now explore the world without a care.
I love that I can sleep and snore until the midday's air.
I love that I have learnt to share and my how I can swim!
I love my aura and galore, expressed with but a grin.
I hate how all my fascination with the world declined.
I hate how sky clouds' animation perished from my mind.
I hate how no one's ever kind to me and I'm alone.
I hate how alcohol's temptation over me has grown.
I love how I can feel emotion t'wards another soul.
I love that I can sail the ocean, always in control.
I love how in my life, a hole is no cause for alarm.
With simple grit and great devotion I shan't come to harm.
I hate that I can touch the ceiling in my bathroom walls.
I hate that eerie lonesome feeling that I'm getting tall.
I hate how e'erything now is small and how I've grown so high.
But never will I cease my dreaming—
—That I'll someday touch the sky.
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