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Ever since you were a little boy |
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You use to think to yourself |
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That the mysterious ways a common life |
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Was a commotion riding with a baby boom |
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And every now and then you saw faces with a smile |
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And by the pillow of slow decay |
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You could taste the sweetness of the grenadine smeared upon your bed |
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There was a time |
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When you were nine |
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You had those long and shady curls |
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Now you are bald |
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And way to old |
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To play among the girls |
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Mannequins in perforated petticoats |
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In taffetas of satin hoop crinoline |
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The puppeteers are working on your midlife Capri pants |
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And tricel scarves in pastel greens but the restless walk in his jeans |
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You never were as pretty as Ronny from the gym |
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He had a hammer for a head and a shovel for a fist |
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And a face of a mutilation talking just like Citizen Kane (Come on, everybody!) |
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Now brady boys and rubber dolls, razorblades and barbie bones |
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Saturdays tangled up in purple cymbelines from a wedding |
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Are lying in your bed for those long bitter days |
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Nothing ever turned out like you wanted |
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But you know the times are changing |
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You're 29, past your prime |
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And now they're gone |
