I am silly, a die-hard romantic goon.
I wonder how long it took for the light from the stars I see to reach me,
I hear fire crackling, the sound of a heated imagination.
I see Tom Sawer whitewashing, and i know I will join him, because
I want the time of my life before it ends.
I am a silly, die-hard romantic goon.

I pretend to be the entertainer;
I feel the rumble of applause,
I touch the smooth, sweaty microphone, and
I worry that my mother upstairs can hear me sing.
I cry because the people i miss are thousands of miles away and cant hear me sing.
I am a silly, die-hard romantic goon.

I understand rocket science and baking techniques, and the laws of my morals.
I say that if you believe in it, fight for it, whatever “it” may be.
I dream the dreams of a silly teenager, full of lust and fantasy;
I try fulfilling my dreams, but instead end up with an even better reality, and
I hope to find a way both dreams and reality can intermix, because
I am a silly, die-hard romantic goon