| Miguel sits at the corner store with skin like terra cotta pottery
|
| Waiting for a bus, a bus
|
| With a hat like Billy Jack’s, a smile like Freddie Prinz
|
| He comes and he goes with the dust
|
| Looking out his window world as the desert skies open up and introduce
|
| The stars that dance in space
|
| But he falls fast asleep with a dream that he keeps
|
| Underneath his pillow case
|
| Carry me whoever you are
|
| I’m waiting with masses for the rites of passage
|
| And wishing on a superstar
|
| Stacy adds to her billfold and slides down a brass pole
|
| For free drinks and a bigger tip
|
| Posing from a good home that haunts when she’s all alone
|
| She sheds what she cannot strip
|
| Carry me whoever you are
|
| I’m waiting with masses for the rites of passage
|
| And wishing on a superstar
|
| Show us the way, show us the way
|
| Cause we want to be loved and we want to be saved
|
| And we all want to be ok, and we all want to be ok
|
| But we don’t have the means to pay
|
| And I don’t have the means to pay
|
| Carry me whoever you are
|
| I’m waiting with masses for the rites of passage
|
| And wishing on a superstar
|
| Miguel sits at the corner store smoking on a cigarette
|
| He bummed off a punk in gangsta hood
|
| Stacy takes a drag and puts her hands on his back
|
| And they walk like they’re Holly wood
|
| Carry me whoever you are
|
| I’m waiting with masses for the rites of passage
|
| And wishing on a superstar |