If you see a dysfunctional child roaming round the house
Just tell her that her mother is waiting home for her
That's probably all she wants to hear.
I don't know when it first happened
I think it was happening since forever
I don't know which loss made the young woman regress
To the state of a child
Now her squeaky voice sounds insufferable to herself
And, when she looks in the mirror, she feels silly for wearing
Grown-up clothes,
She hasn't left the house for months because it feels so hard
To talk to other people
Now her mind is an empty playground
Where no one comes to join her.
She has found excuses in everything
Not to restart the climbing
She think tomorrow is a better day to begin:
Tomorrow it is not tired, tomorrow is the same
But better.