I was never born to run I was never born to be wild I was just a plowboys son I was just a dead girl’s child Waiting for the bells to ring Waiting for the angel band Waiting for the choir to sing Waiting for the promised land I was never young or strong I was never out or in I was never right or wrong I was going where I’d already been Saving up the table scraps Saving up the pennies tossed Saving up the sound of taps Saving up the heartbeats lost A eulogy of words An elegy of grace Sketching on the stone An epitaph of waste I never marched for any rights I never pledged to any cause I never lit those Christmas lights I never heard thunderous applause Waking to want another shot Waking to want another face Waking to want what I ain’t got Waking to face my empty space I was never full of laughs I was never filled with grief I was never sawed in half I was gambling with belief Praying there’s no crown to wear Praying there’s no price to pay Praying there’s no cross to bear Praying there’s no judgment day A eulogy of words The last elegy of grace Carved upon the stone A final epitaph of waste
