| Working girls cursing teenaged Marines,
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| 'Til the TJ police came and broke up the scene.
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| Damn, the stars, they seem brighter down here,
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| Haven’t looked up in years since I left where I’m from.
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| Remembering St. Augustine, wasn’t quite twenty three,
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| With a bag full of secrets in a maze of concrete,
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| And a busted lip I came by honestly.
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| What will become of me?
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| I guess we’ll just wait and see.
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| Headed south, Ensenada again,
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| Carried slow by the wind, broke as I’ve ever been.
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| Buried deep all the beauty I keep,
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| Drank tequila so cheap that they should’ve paid me.
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| Then I woke up alone with my hand on the phone
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| And nobody to call who’d invite me back home.
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| Was I chased all this way by my chemistry? |
| What will become of me?
|
| I guess we’ll just wait and see.
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| I’ll come down off the cross, sometimes we all get lost.
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| I’m so sick of myself, can’t afford what it costs,
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| To be drowned in a sea of my memory.
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| What will become of me?
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| I guess we’ll just wait and see. |