What holy cities are to nomadic tribes - a symbol of race and a bond of union - great books are to the wandering souls of men: they are the Meccas of the mind.
G.E. Woodberry
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Biên tập viên
After 17
Her right hand closed the front porch door
And suddenly a child no more
All the ribbons all the bows, in a box now on her closet floor
Anxious for what's to come
Afraid to leave a place she loves
She's not a woman not a girl
Trying to find her place in this crazy world
Meet a lover make a friend
Try and figure out what this life really means
After 17
Broken hearts and rusted dreams
Sometimes make it hard to leave and
Certainty is out of reach even with some self belief
So she bites her lip and shows a smile
Flips her hair and flaunts her style
She's not a woman not a girl
Trying to find her place in this crazy world
Meet a lover make a friend
Try and figure out what this life really means
After 17
Her memories she stowed away
Pulls them out on rainy days
And brand new faces take their place, beside the ones that never fade
Shes strong and fragile, weak and smart
Whatever the cost she plays the part
She's not a woman not a girl
Trying to find her place in this crazy world
Meet a lover make a friend
Try and figure out what this life really means
After 17
Her right hand closed the front porch door
And suddenly a child no more.