The Awkward Age

Inadequate hands, inadequate means, inadequate little go-betweens, so what?
You grovel and grope - so what?
And cling to the hope, and so you keep building, building, building
with the toothpicks and the glue.
But buildings can fall - you haven't learned.

In tempera and egg and papier mache, the temperament is led astray, so what?
You step to the floor - so what?
And stumble once more, and so you keep trying, trying, trying
to be bored and bitter too.
And someday you will - but you haven't learned.

Oh, I love you best at the awkward age.
You know I love you best at the awkward age.

Every time I call you've found a new way, new way to commit suicide unsuccessfully.
Impatiently you grab at any throughway, throughway
The future fills you head, you poke it till it's dead,
and smile a silly pardon me.

Oh, I love you best at the awkward age.
You know I love you best at the awkward age.