Ever since you were a little boy
You use to think to yourself
That the mysterious ways [bad word] life
Was [bad word] riding with a baby boom
And every now and then you saw faces with a smile
And by the pillow of slow decay
You could taste the sweetness of the grenadine smeared upon your bed

There was a time
When you were nine
You had those long and shady curls
Now you are bald
And way to old
To play among the girls

Mannequins in perforated petticoats
In taffetas of satin hoop crinoline
The puppeteers are working on your midlife Capri pants
And tricel scarves in pastel greens but the restless walk in his jeans

You never were as pretty as Ronny from the gym
He had a hammer for a head and a shovel for a fist
And a face of a mutilation talking just like Citizen Kane [bad word] on, everybody!)
Now brady boys [bad word] dolls, razorblades and barbie bones
Saturdays tangled up in purple cymbelines from a wedding
Are lying in your bed for those long bitter days

Nothing ever turned out like you wanted
But you know the times are changing
You're 29, past your prime
And now they're gone