We don't look up anymore
The stars are still there, but we find them a bore
They don't make any noise
They certainly aren't toys
Stars may as well be folklore

We don't stop to hear the birds
Each day they write symphonies
that go largely unheard
We'd rather listen to TV
than birds in a bay tree
Which to me is completely absurd

We take the sun for granted
Each day she paints masterpieces, but we're not enchanted
We're either begging her to stay
or wishing she'd just go away
Well, one day we'll get all we demanded
When we demolish this jewel we were handed

Cross your fingers
Knock on wood
I'm living proof
neither does any good

I've found plenty of pennies
Picked some up
Where the hell
is my good luck?

And those Birthday wishes
I made at two?
Well, not a single one
of them came true

I liken my heart
To lavender and ashes
Pretty yet barren