Feeling twelve again, a shrunken down fool
Burning cheeks and captured brain, Got caught without my adult tools
Still renting my abode, no real control, I ride a bus like a child to hated school
I wash my clothes five blocks away, it’s cold, it’s not so cool
Ask for money, ask for rides, I only wish that I could ask for pride
There’s not a lot of that inside
I’m twelve, I’m ten, I’m seven, I’m five, I’m a grown up small, by grace survive
Not the fun part with cartoons, No crayon colored afternoons
Just the weak and helpless subjugation, Minus all the imagination
The bad kind of young, my cheeks still stung
No rights no choice no license no voice
I’m a grown up twelve, I did it to myself
Hey you big boss I’m at a loss, Please tell me what to do
I humbly bend a knee to your trainee, And your seventh hand doctrine handed to you
By your sub executive fifth division assistant vp in committee decision
Yes sir yes sir beg take my hand, Lead me to the whack work promised land
Shiny up my Spiny Tiny new name tag
I bow down to your necktie, You’re so important I could cry
Bless your heart to live that lie
I’m twelve, I’m ten, I’m seven, I’m five, I’m a grown up small, by grace survive
Not the fun part with cartoons, No crayon colored afternoons
Just the weak and helpless subjugation, Minus all the imagination
The bad kind of young, my cheeks still stung
No rights no choice no license no voice
I’m a grown up twelve, I did it to myself
Now I’m under the heel of a real big deal, Please tell me where to walk today
Then laugh at me for how I feel
Bad Dads are everywhere, Yelling telling you to get down from there
It’s a helpless hell, My small child cell
Clowns of power rule the day, Ignorant volume all the way
You go work and I’ll go play
I’m twelve, I’m ten, I’m seven, I’m five, I’m a grown up small, by grace survive
Not the fun part with cartoons, No crayon colored afternoons
Just the weak and helpless subjugation, Minus all the imagination
The bad kind of young, my cheeks still stung
No rights no choice no license no voice
I’m a grown up twelve
Nothing is mine I don’t even own my time,
I slink back to my pockets, At twelve I never would have thought it
I feel stupid every day, The number ladder has no say
It’s a helpless hell my small child cell
I’m a grown up twelve
I’m twelve, I’m ten, I’m seven, I’m five, I’m a grown up small, by grace survive
Not the fun part with cartoons, No crayon colored afternoons
Just the weak and helpless subjugation, Minus all the imagination
The bad kind of young, my cheeks still stung
No rights no choice no license no voice
I’m a grown up twelve
I did it to myself
The Repressions 