Pass the cracks on every weird occasion,
you keep your fingers crossed at any time.
If I were you I could come up with more solutions why
you put your foot down.
Counting feels like something to hang on to,
you find the number, try to break the code.
I guess by now you figured out there's no conclusion why
you put your foot down.
You're nine years old, your body's cold.
And underneath the bed the world seems grey.
The pain inside your head has gone away.

You're nine years old,
You're nine years old.