My car broke down in Arizona, have to ride the bus again,
at ten-o-clock on Tuesday night, with thirteen cents and a broken pen.
I put my backpack on the bench, tell two people I donít smoke,
see the cop across the street, he thinks that I am selling dope,
I could have walked another block, to get away from the scene.
Why does it always come to this, where 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 hand.
I see the lady next to me, holds her baby black blue.
The junkie gutter-punks keeps asking, where I got my new tattoo.
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 donít know what to do, down at Colfax and Broadway.
Now the man with no shoes on, says I donít 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 canít stand to see you suffer, I try to intellectualize,
a formula to end you pain, it doesnít work,
God knows Iíve tried. Sometimes my cup is overfilled.
Sometimes Iím too afraid that Iím going to spill.