Down my long seventeen-year-old hair
_____
That I tied up now and then
_____
Sometimes bare hands slipped
_____
What became of them
_____
Along the long nights in the gloom
_____
I'd tell myself, that's it, I'm sinking
_____
And I'd wait for dawn
_____
Five or six years of almost nothing
Stupid age, desperate age
_____
Five or six years, I remember
_____
I was clay and fire mixed
_____
Along the long hallways of that high school
_____
Where I was bored to death
_____
I wrote words on the walls
_____
Without anyone seeing me, of course
_____
Along the long black-and-white days
_____
Both hands hidden in my sleeves
_____
I'd have given anything to be elsewhere
_____
Five or six years of almost nothing
_____
Stupid age, desperate age
_____
Five or six years, I remember
_____
I was clay and fire mixed
_____
Along the long agonizing Sundays
_____
God I hated the present
_____
And I took refuge in my tower
_____
Along the long clandestine letters
That I'd write like a heroine
_____
I imagined in great secret
That someone would die for me
_____
Five or six years of almost nothing
Stupid age, desperate age
_____
Five or six years, I remember
_____
I was clay and fire mixed
_____
Down my long seventeen-year-old hair
_____
That you tied up now and then
_____
Sometimes bare hands slipped
_____
What became of them
_____
Along the long nights in the gloom
_____
I'd tell myself, that's it, I'm sinking
_____
And I'd wait for dawn
_____
Five or six years of almost nothing
_____
Stupid age, desperate age
_____
Five or six years, I remember
_____
I was clay and fire mixed
_____
Five or six years of almost nothing