If I was a baby with nothing to hide
I would be saying prayers all of the time
I would not think of to whom they're addressed
I'd have my mouth on the mystery's breast

Little boy blue in the corn with his horn
Pouring out music the day he was born
Son of a gun and it's holster in love
He can't remember what he is made of

Ooooh

Teenage Maria is caught in the door
Not understanding what her body's for
All of the pieces begin to align
Sick to her stomach she feels like she's flying

Man with a magazine over his face
Wishes that he was in some other place
Life is a waiting room for those who wait
All of it's terrible all of it's great

Ooooh

Grandfather Elliott out on the beach
Watching Ma's paper blow out of his reach
He cannot tell her his soul could be going
So busy always with his bluster and blowing
If I was a baby and I could be blessed
I would sing true love out of your chest
I get the paper I get myself dressed
I keep my mouth on the mystery's breast

Ooooh