Making Maps
I watch the second hand
As it stumbles past that number 12
It's such a vicious hand
That pushes everything away from me

So young, with all the time in the world
You run and hide
Mapping out so many dreams, so many plans

When so much is new
The ticking of the clock is just to quiet to hear
When so much is new, nothing seems to matter

Time etches itself across your face
The ticking just gets louder

Those maps that we made when we were young
They start to fray and tear at the edges
The places we wanted to go slowly disappear

And when the ticking stops, and we all notice the silence
It's the sound we could all hear, but we chose to ignore it
It's the sound we could all hear, but we all chose to ignore it

As we keep growing up, we're just waiting for the ticking to stop
And as we start giving up, that sound keeps on getting louder