It just doesn't fit,
I can't get used
To the me that I see in the mirror
I don't wonder at all if the moth is surprised
That it does no longer crawl.
I keep waiting and thinking expecting to be
The me that I now no longer see
I was a boy and now I'm a man,
Wearing clothes that don't fit who I am
I look in the mirror and see a charade
Like I played with the clothes of my dad.
It doesn't seem fair that I'm finally aware
But, I guess the key's to be where I am when I'm there
I keep waiting and thinking expecting to be
The me that I now no longer see
I was a boy and now I'm a man
Wearing clothes that don't fit who I am
I look in the mirror and see a charade
Like I played with the clothes of my dad.
Richard Royce (c) 1998