I met a man with grey hair
He wasn’t smilin but I’m sure he once had
Saw his story in the lines at his eyes
I asked him how is it fair
To have a bench in a park and call it home
He gave a shoulder shrug but thanked me
At least somebody cares
It’s hard to know, hard to grow up in a bubble
Cause all I have to show are some scrapes from the rubble
So when the lining breaks and my own skins at stake
Will scars form after my lucky streak is torn?
I saw a pretty blonde girl
She looked tired but she knew how to hide it well
It took me a couple glances to tell
I told her I was from Boston
Just came down for some sun on the weekends
She didn’t comprehend
She said only rain falls here
It’s hard to know, hard to grow up in a bubble
Cause all I have to show are some scrapes from the rubble
So when the lining breaks and my own skins at stake
Will scars form after my lucky streak is torn?
I’m just floating here
Everyday, every year
Well maybe one day, one year my soul will know the feeling of fear
Who is in the skies?
Who’s the one that decides
That I’m not a park bench man or a pretty blonde girl who has no sanity
It’s hard to know, hard to grow up in a bubble
Cause all I have to show are some scrapes from the rubble
So when the lining breaks and my own skins at stake
Will scars form after my lucky streak is torn?
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