Was it a huntsman or a player that made you pay the cost that now assumes relaxed positions And prostitutes your loss? Were you tortured by your own … - Sixto Rodriguez

Going down a dirty inner city side road,
I plotted.
Madness passed me by, she smiled Hi.
I nodded.
Looked up as the sky began to cry;
she shot it.
Met a girl from Dearborn early six o'clock this morn:
a cold fact.
Asked about her bag. "Suburbia's such a drag,
won't go back,
'cause Papa don't allow no new ideas here,
and now he sees the news, but the picture's not too clear."

Now you sit there thinking. Feeling insecure.
The mocking court gesture claims there is no proven cure.
Go back to your chamber, your eyes upon the wall.
'Cos you got no one to listen, you got no one to call.
And you think I'm curious.
Drifting, drowning in a purple sea of doubt
you wanna hear she loves you
but the words don't fit the mouth.
You're a loser, a rebel-a-cause-without.
But don't think me callous.

I wonder how many times you've been had.
And I wonder how many plans have gone bad.
I wonder how many times you had sex?
And I wonder do you know who'll be next?
I wonder. I wonder. Wonder, I do.
I wonder about the love you can't find.
And I wonder about the loneliness that's mine.
I wonder how much going have you got?
And I wonder about your friends that are not.
I wonder. I wonder. Wonder I do.