Tuesday night, with thirteen cents and a broken pen.
I put my backpack on the bench, tell two people i dont smoke, see the cop
across the street, he thinks that  am selling dope.
I could have walked another block, to get away from the scene.
Why does it always come to this, where the zero meets fifteen?

And so i gave my thirteen cents, to the man who peed his pants.
He passes out and falls on me, i watch my change fall from his hands.
I see the lady next to me, holds her baby black and blue.
The junkie gutter-punks keep asking, where i got my new tatoo.
What does it matter anyway, thirteen cents or all I own?
HOw can i ever save the world, on cup-o-soup and student loans?

I want to try and save the world, but it never goes that way.
God i dont know what to do, down oat Colfax and Broadway.

Now the man with no shoes on, says i dont know how to play.
He says i fumble all the time.
He thinks that i am John Elway.
I put my face down in my hands, water wells inside my eyes.
What do i have to give them?
Does it matter if i try?
I cant stand to see you suffer, i try to intellectualize, a formula to end
your pain, it doesnt work, God knows Ive tried.

Sometimes myu cup is overfilled.
Sometimes Im to afradi that Im going to spill