Seven A.M., the usual morning line-up
Start on the chores, and sweep 'til the floor's all clean
Polish and wax, do laundry and mop and shine up
Sweep again
And by then
It's, like, seven-fifteen

And so I'll read a book
Or maybe two or three
I'll add a few new paintings
To my gallery
I'll play guitar and knit and cook
And basic'ly
Just wonder, when will my life begin?

Then, after lunch, it's puzzles, and darts and baking...
Papier-maché, a bit of ballet, and chess...
Pottery and ventriloquy, candle-making...
Then I'll stretch
Maybe sketch
Take a climb
Sew a dress

And I'll re-read the books
If I have time to spare
I'll paint the wall some more
I'm sure there's room somewhere
And then I'll [bad word]  and [bad word] 
And [bad word]  and [bad word] my hair
Stuck in the same place I've always been

And I'll keep won'dring
And won'dring
And won'dring
And won'dring
When will my life begin?

Tomorrow night...
The lights will appear
Just like they do on my birthday each year
What is it like
Out there where they glow?
Now that I'm older
Mother might just let me go...