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Descartes A Kant
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The Peter Pan Syndrome
While I was walking today,
I realized I was asking myself the same questions I usually ask
on my birthday：
Am I proud? Am I Old?
Am I mature? Am I stable?
What the fuck did I do this year?
Am I better? Am I wiser?
Am I successful? Am I in love?
Am I sick?
Hi sweetheart.
Come and tell me what should I wear tonight.
High heels are not an option.
Or would you wish I changed my mind?
Close your eyes.
Make a wish.
Eat for me...
The cakes they bring to feed me to take you away,
away, away, away...
But I ain't spitting, I ain't spitting you...
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I ain't spitting, I ain't spitting you...
I ain't spitting, I ain't spitting you out.
Why do I always cry on my birthdays?
They usually suck!
But today is the saddest,
the saddest, the saddest, the saddest, the saddest,
the saddest day!
Of my life.
(Waaaahhhh)
The gifts! The hugs! The smiles! The presents!
The ridiculous cake ceremony! Oh my God!
Hi sweetheart.
Come and tell me what should I wear tonight.
High heels are not an option.
Or would you wish I changed my mind?
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