| Every time I open my mouth
|
| I take off my clothes
|
| I’m raw and frostbitten from
|
| Being exposed
|
| I got red scabby hands
|
| And purple scabby feet
|
| And you can smell me coming from
|
| Halfway down the street
|
| And I remember that old hotel had quite the smell
|
| Where I’d go to use the phone
|
| Between the donut shop and the pizza parlor
|
| Where I learned to live alone
|
| Sweet sixteen and smiling
|
| My way out of any jam
|
| Learning the ways of the world, oh my
|
| Learning the ways of man
|
| And I didn’t really want a baby
|
| And I guess that I had a choice
|
| But I just let it grow inside me
|
| This persistent little voice
|
| And I guess I got her off and running
|
| And then run off is what she did
|
| And that’s part of what I think about
|
| When I think about that kid
|
| So now there’s nothing left to wish upon
|
| Except for passing cars
|
| The cacophony of city lights
|
| Is drowning out the stars
|
| This park bench is a life boat
|
| And the rest a big dark sea
|
| And I’m just gonna lie here until
|
| Something comes and finds me
|
| Yeah I got this tired old face
|
| Still grinning most of the time
|
| Just 'cause it don’t have a better way
|
| To express what’s on it’s mind
|
| And I got this running monologue
|
| Entertaining in its outrage
|
| And I’ve got the air of an animal
|
| That’s been living in a cage
|
| Every time I open my mouth
|
| I take off my clothes
|
| I’m raw and frostbitten from
|
| Being exposed
|
| I got red scabby hands
|
| And purple scabby feet
|
| And you can smell me coming from
|
| Halfway down the street |