If I was a baby with nothing to hide
I would be saying prayers all of the time
I wouldn't think 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 his holster in love
He can't remember what he is made of
Teenage Maria is caught in the door
Not understanding what her body's for
Suddenly all of the pieces 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 all those who wait
So much of it's terrible but all of it's great
Now if I was a baby I could be blessed
I would sing true love right out of your chest
I'd get the paper and get myself dressed
I'd keep my mouth on the mystery's breast