The Birthdays We’re Counting

When am I old enough to bury the kid in me?
What age must I reach to be taken seriously?
What is that magic number supposed to be?
Apparently I’m not wise enough to see

That it’s not the birthdays we’re counting
Not the years that are piling up
It’s the times we find a fountain
That refills our precious cup
No, it’s not the birthdays we’re counting
Not the clouds that block the sun
It’s the way we’re moving mountains
Take your innocence and run

When were we young enough to feel completely free?
How many candles on the cake have we blown out?
One, two, three?
Those were the days
The future a mystery
Now it seems so real and wasted to me

Stones still left unturned
Fragments from our youth
Moments that let us feel ageless
Not every fact’s a piece of truth

It’s not the birthdays we’re counting
Not the years that are piling up
It’s the times we find a fountain
That refills our precious cup
No, it’s not the birthdays we’re counting
Not the money in the bank
It’s the times we climb a mountain
It’s the reds and whites we drank

No, it’s not the birthdays we’re counting
Not the clouds that block the sun
It’s the way we’re moving mountains
Take your innocence and run