It’s funny, really, how the greatest thing we’ll ever do was written on our nursery walls.
It’s funny how the first person we’ll ever kiss is the one we never wanted to.
It’s funny, really, how the person we’ve always wanted to be is the one we can never become.

It’s funny to think of the people who’ve changed us,
To think of the people we will change.
It’s funny to know people and then not, to meet someone or don’t and never know the difference.

It’s funny, really, to wake up every morning.
To put on socks and shoes, to smell coffee and to make toast.
It’s funny, to feel your muscles tire and your eyes get sore.

It’s funny that courage is like the last piece of cherry pie,
Juicy and sour and waiting to be taken, but everyone to awkward to ask.
It’s funny how courage can be a cherry pie, but cherry pie can’t be courage.

It’s funny that the sun is yellow but the moon is white.
It’s funny that coffee tastes different from tea and nothing like soda.
And it’s funny that scribbles make words and words make thoughts and thoughts aren’t even real.

It’s funny that I’ve written a poem with ‘funny’ on almost every line.
And now ‘funny’ looks funny and I don’t what to do about that.
It’s funny that ‘funny’ is a funny word and that it looks funny written down.

It’s funny to think of the things we could have done and didn’t.
It’s funny to think of the things we could have done and did.
It’s funny, really, that we did anything at all, and funny that this happened too.