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Lucy was 7 and wore a head of blue barettes |
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City born, into this world with no knowledge and no regrets |
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Had a piece of yellow chalk with which she'd draw upon the street |
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The many faces of the various locals that she would meet |
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There was joshua, age 10 |
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Bully of the block |
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Who always took her milk money at the morning bus stop |
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There was |
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Mrs. Crabtree, and her poodle |
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She always gave a wave and holler on her weekly trip down to the bingo parlor |
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And she drew |
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Men, women, kids, sunsets, clouds |
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And she drew |
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Skyscrapers, fruit stands, cities, towns |
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Always said hello to passers-by |
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They'd ask her why she passed her time |
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Attachin lines to concrete |
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But she would only smile |
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Now all the other children living in or near her building |
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Ran around like tyrants, soaking up the open fire hydrants |
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They would say "Hey little Lucy, wanna come jump double dutch?" |
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Lucy would pause, look, grin and say "I'm busy, thank you much" |
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Well, well, one year passed |
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And believe it or not |
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She covered every last inch of the entire sidewalk, |
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And she stopped- "Lucy, after all this, you're just giving in today??" |
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She said: "I'm not giving in, I'm finished," and walked away (Chorus: x2) 1 2 3 |
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That's the speed of the seed |
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A B C That's the speed of the need dream a little dream, |
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Or you can live a little dream |
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I'd rather live it |
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Cuz dreamers always chase |
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But never get it |
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Lucy was 37, and introverted somewhat |
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Basement apartment in the same building she grew up in |
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She traded in her blue barettes for long locks held up with a clip |
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Traded in her yellow chalk for charcoal sticks |
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And she drew |
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Little bobby who would come to sweep the porch |
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And she drew |
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The mailman, delivered everyday at 4 |
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Lucy had very little contact with the folks outside her cubicle day |
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But she found it suitable, and she liked it that way |
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She had a man now: |
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Rico, similar, hermit |
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They would only see each other once or twice a week on purpose |
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They appreciated space and |
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Rico was an artist too |
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So they'd connect on saturdays to share the pictures that they drew (Look!) |
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Now every month or so, she'd get a knock upon the front door |
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Just one of the neighbors, |
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Actin nice, although she was a strange girl, they would |
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Say, "Lucy, wanna join me for some lunch??" |
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Lucy would smile and say "I'm busy, thank you much" |
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And they would make a weird face the second the door shut |
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And run and tell their friends how truly crazy |
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Lucy was And lucy knew what people thought but didn't care |
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Cuz while they spread their rumors through the street |
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She'd paint another masterpiece (Chorus x2) |
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Lucy was 87, upon her death bed |
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At the senior home, where she had previously checked in |
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Traded in the locks and clips for a head rest |
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Traded in the charcoal sticks for arthritis, it had to happen |
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And she drew no more, just sat and watched the dawn |
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Had a television in the room that she'd never turned on |
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Lucy pinned up a life worth's of pictures on the wall |
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And sat and smiled, looked each one over, just to laugh at it all |
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Now Rico, he had passed, 'bout 5 years back |
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So the visiting hours pulled in a big flock o' nothin |
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She'd never spoken much throughout the spanning of her life |
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Until the day she leaned forward, grinned and pulled the nurse aside |
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And she said: "Look, I've never had a dream in my life Because a dream is what you wanna do, but still haven't pursued I knew what I wanted and did it till it was done So i've been the dream that I wanted to be since day one!" |
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Well! The nurse jumped back, |
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She'd never heard |
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Lucy even talk, ' |
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Specially words like that |
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She walked over to the door, and pulled it closed behind |
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Then Lucy blew a kiss to each one of her pictures |
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And she died. (Chorus x2) 1 2 3... |
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A B C... |
