I dreamed of being sweet sixteen, then magic twenty-one
Now I am twenty-nine and seeing thirty come.
My babysitter calls me ma'am, it makes me feel quite numb.
How can I think of me as old? I've always been so young.

I once could name the ten top songs played on the radio.
Now I turn the rock groups down or hunt for something slow.
Now there are lines around my eyes I thought would never show.
And pounds that used to be above my waist have sunk below.

The boy I worshiped as a teen, now lies beside me snoring.
His middle's thicker, and so is mine and he's not so adoring.
He used worship at my feet but now mostly he's ignoring.
And I once clung to his every word but now mostly he is boring.

I was depressed to see how fast my youthful days could flee.
And then I met a fine old man, his age was eighty-three.
His hair was white, his walk was slow and he could barely see.
He called me child and said he wished he was young as me.