I was home by the winter.
I was home from the school town,
undecided.
And questions came, like,
What did you say you're doing now?
Well, I...
I had hopes for my music.
And I imagined their faces said,
Well you can't do that, you silly thing.
God, He gave me a brave heart.
But God, He gave me a chicken head.
And I felt I'd failed.

I am always beginning the world,
beginning the world.

Aren't you bursting with butterflies
on the fourth of September?
Like you'll have to get on the bus
in your tartan dress, with your lunch box.
Though your body is twenty-nine.
Though your mind is an old thing.
I mean, don't you ever get sigh,

I am always beginning the world,
beginning the world?
I am always beginning the world,
beginning the world.

Always the same underdog stance
under the same happy-sad sky,
eternally crying, Am I still shy?

I am always beginning the world,
beginning the world.
I am always beginning the world,
beginning the world, beginning the world

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