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One of those days |
|
that just comes and goes |
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it's not so special |
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she watches the birds |
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that rest on a ledge |
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outside her room |
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the wallpaper old and faded |
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a crack in the window pane |
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the radio just keeps playing |
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playing that same old song. |
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She smiles to herself |
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"they think that i'm strange... |
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...they say I'm a dreamer |
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...but I don't complain, |
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though I don't have much |
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to call my own." |
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and she's not a movie star, no |
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and she's not a beauty queen |
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she'll tell you it doesn't matter |
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'cause she's not the only one |
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she says, |
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"I know a place |
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where I keep the best of things |
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I'm not gonna wait |
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for my piece of heaven. |
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Where there's a road |
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it leads to the promised land |
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I just turn the key |
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the key to the |
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...kingdom..." |
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she stares at the page |
|
of a new magazine, the morning papers |
|
she walks into town |
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and catches a show |
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if she can find the time |
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and she's not a movie star, no |
|
and she's not a beauty queen |
|
she'll tell you it doesn't matter |
|
'cause she's not the only one. |
|
she says, |
|
"I know a place |
|
where I keep the best of things |
|
I'm not gonna wait |
|
for my piece of heaven |
|
where there's a road |
|
it leads to the promised land |
|
I just turn the key |
|
the key to the |
|
...kingdom..." |
