Working girls
Cursing teenaged Marines
'Til the TJ Police
Came and broke up the scene
Damn the stars
They seem brighter down here
Haven't looked up in years
Since I left where I'm from
Remembering St. Augustine
Wasn't quite twenty three
With a bag full of secrets
In a maze of concrete
And a busted lip I came by honestly
What will become of me?
I guess we'll just wait and see
Headed south
Ensenada again
Carried slow by the wind
Broke as I've ever been
Buried deep
All the beauty I keep
Drank tequila so cheap
That they should've paid me
Then I woke up alone
With my hand on the phone
And nobody to call
Who'd invite me back home
Was I chased all this way by my chemistry?
What will become of me?
I guess we'll just wait and see
I'll come down off the cross
Sometimes we all get lost
I'm so sick of myself
Can't afford what it costs
To be drowned in a sea of my memories
What will become of me?
I guess we'll just wait and see
