17 at Christmastime

This isn't the first time that I've wished for a little bit of snow
it's just hard when you want to talk, but you know
that no one could ever empathize with your hope to hear sleigh bells

And that old pogo stick, I swear, it was like hell on a spring,
but the best part of it was the first time I tore open it's package
ripping away without mercy at the red, silky strings

And laying in bed early in the morning with my sister at a minute 'til 6
sweating bullets and praying to God for patience until the last few seconds finally ticked
and we stormed down the stairs knowing what lay under the tree,
and even though nothing has changed, it's just not the same anymore for me..

And it hurts to be reminded of your loved ones' deaths in pictures everywhere you look
but it's even harder to remember the last breath you took
when you realized for the first time that Saint Nick wasn't all that he was talked up to be..

It grievs me that gift-giving is such a task
And how I grumble and complain when I have to drive 13 hours to get back home,
when really, it's not that much to ask
Yeah, it seems like it's never going to feel the same way as it did when I was nine,
But I guess that's how you're supposed to feel when you're 17 at Christmastime