|
Eight years old |
|
I was in love with a girl |
|
Eight years old |
|
My only love meant the world |
|
We'd hang out |
|
Play catch and kiss at lunch time |
|
I was young she was something to call mine |
|
I'd be lying if I said I was not |
|
Devastated and broken when she |
|
Opened my hand slid hers in |
|
Then walked away |
|
It was bad |
|
The only eight year old kid suicidal |
|
In the school |
|
Convinced I was down to survival |
|
Melodramatic in my usual way |
|
I was sure that the whole world would end |
|
When the girl left that day |
|
And it did |
|
Seventeen years old |
|
Riding home on the bus |
|
Seventeen |
|
Looking for someone to trust |
|
The seat next to me |
|
Sits down a girl I once loved |
|
She looks at me |
|
And then I remember her touch |
|
She smiles |
|
Then touches my knee |
|
All of the sudden I'm eight years old not seventeen |
|
Again |
|
Here's this girl |
|
I was in love, I was eight |
|
Almost a decade later |
|
A decade too late |
|
So she smiles |
|
Asks me "so how you been?" |
|
Then gives me her number to go out sometime this weekend |
|
My head is spinning it's all too surreal |
|
Deja vu doesn't begin to describe how I feel |
|
So I laugh |
|
There's nothing to say |
|
Maybe everything in my life's gonna end up this way |