Tiny, Young, and Immature

October 17, 2011
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I may be tiny, young, and immature,
yet when I play my melodic trumpet,
I know what I do is true, real, and sure.

I am growing up in a big city,
unable to express my true talent.
Elders surpass me, it is a pity.

One day, I will escape this place for good
With my trumpet in hand, I will travel.
I will entertain some folk as I should.

Nineteen is my age, but that won’t stop me.
Authority has no meaning at all.
I will travel with my trumpet, you’ll see.

My trumpet will not be stopped, nor my sound.
The road is my future that is for sure.
I’ll be gone but my trumpet will resound.

Together we will be, trumpet and me.
No more big cities, just the country roads.
You can watch and listen, there is no fee.

I may be tiny, young, and immature,
but I play trumpet and that is for sure.

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