Waiting for My Life to Begin

Limping thought the Holy Land I spied a strange bazaar.
I tied my stingray to a post, next to an avatar.
He said, “There's no parking here, my son. It’s for the seminar
On ‘How To Get To Heaven With Your Mastercard‘.”
I busted by him then and there and mingled with the millionaires
Dancing with angels on the head of a pin.
I studied their discipline,
Waiting for my life to begin.

Passing by a stadium, I heard a wheezing noise.
I bought a ticket for the game and sat down with the boys.
Nine cheerleaders on a hearse made me lose my poise.
There's something about my innocence and the good things it destroys.
I ran down onto the field and made those cheerleaders yield.
I ruined all that's feminine,
Then smoothed out the wrinkles on their skin,
Waiting for my life to begin.

Driving down in Hollywood, I passed a Mexican.
I asked him for a Spanish fly so we could have some fun.
He said, “There’s nothing Spanish here, except this fallen nun.
“She ain’t made love for weeks. And boy, you ain’t 21.”
I said I was a fallen monk, then stuffed that nun into my trunk.
I drove drove off to buy her medicine.
We got drunk on monastery gin
While we were waiting for her, waiting for my, waiting for our lives to begin.

Counting all my well-laid plans and all my well-planned lays,
I walked way down past the ranch to where the cattle graze.
I asked the lonesome cowgirl how she spends her days.
“I sing about the rain,” she said, “in spurs and negligees.”
I climbed on her Trojan Horse. We both cried in sweet remorse.
And when it rained we went on in.
I dressed her feet in moccasins
While we were waiting for her, waiting for my, waiting for our lives to begin.

Down along the lonely beach I watch the houses fall,
Even though we fight the tide with our manmade wall.
But the ocean just rolls in behind the offshore squall,
Leaving nothing standing but a widow with a shawl.
I gaze with her out to the sea and search for drowning refugees.
I greet them with the stupid grin
Of a man who meets his long lost twin,
Waiting for his, waiting for my, waiting for our lives to begin.

Now I rule the mountaintop but not the winter wind.
She blows and asks me in the night why I'm spread so thin.
“It’s a kind of greed,” I say, 'but not some major sin
“That makes me want to be the last one standing of my kin.”
She blew so hard my head did spin and I forgot what's masculine,
And what I was supposed to win those nights I took it on the chin.
So start the scene with the violins while I remember where I've been
While I was waiting for my life to begin.

Waiting for My Life To Begin

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