You sit high with your servants at your feet, warming over your stone cold tea
Taste sweet wine from the ladies of the street, who got down on their backs for free
You know them well. They kiss and tell. You live high on your borrowed time

You won’t learn when you’re raking in the highs. Tho, you try to get by unseen
Come your turn, you’ll be mirrored down to size, in the eyes of a cardboard queen
She’ll call your name. I’ll call your game. It’s your go, your private three-ring show. It’s been easy to
Please, but your old devotees have out grown it. Have you blown it?

You had time ‘cause you graduated young, jumped the gun to collect your score
Now you’re miming, Cat Fever’s got your tongue as you run for the back stage door
I guarantee no sympathy. They’ve been told you ain’t dipped in gold
You’ll be stoned in the street, and disowned in the heat of reaction. No satisfaction. Your time is due
No time for you. Borrowed time has run out for you...