acorn

Peter, can I go back home?
I flew here under false pretense
I thought it would be fun
But the lost boys have all moved away
And one of them is locked up …
I know you think you’re still a child,
But I couldn’t give a fuck; you’re twenty-one
Oh, Peter,
I can dream no more
I’ve been chasing all of yours
I’ve forgotten what it was that I wanted
That I want