Standing in line for throwaway food for a throwaway man. He shows me his teeth, or should I say, the want of them? (His girl was burned in the floor above. He left her to die in the fire when push came to shove.) 

Waiting for food that no one wanted yesterday. It’s all a waste, so you might as well give it all away. They say, ‘God bless’, put a bag in your hand of bent canned goods and bread like sand. 

The man was wrong: You can get lunch for free if you’re willing to trade your pride and stand in the street. There but for the grace of God goes me. 

Every curb is a cliff by the abyss when I feel like this, and I’m just a home away rom homelessness. I look into their eyes and see there but for the grace of God goes me.


When you’re falling down and you need something to hold onto, I’ll be waiting for you, at your table. Your friends won’t be around, and you know you need some rocket fuel, when you’ve got a mule kicking in your stable.

‘Cause you’ll hit the top before you see the bottom, but you’ll hit the bottom before you see the top!

Now you ain’t no philosopher, but you wonder what it’s all for when you know you won’t break ground 'til you’re buried. You’re like the shark that never drowns because you’re always moving on, and everything you’ll ever have will be temporary.


She’s the kind you’d love. He’s not the kind you’d like, but his problem is he never runs from a fight. So the cops took him last month and they stuck him with the knife. Until his judgement day we’re on borrowed time.

She sees him every Sunday just to walk the line. Every other day his little girl his mine. While he’s locked away we’re free to do what we like. Until his judgement day we’re on borrowed time.

Hear the ticking of a clock as I hold her through the night, haunted by the ghost of a man who hasn’t died. If we have done wrong, we will pay the price. Until his judgment day we’re on borrowed time. 

Hey there, Mr. Judge, won’t you do what’s right? Won’t you put him away and make that little girl my wife? You know the things we do for love, living with our lies.  Until his judgement day we’re on borrowed time. 

Why when someone dies they say they’re in a better place? Have we been cast down, waiting to return to grace? Will we get out of hell when we die? Until his judgment day we’re on borrowed time.


Here’s something I’ll never forget no matter how many years: my girl waiting in a line to get sucked through the clinic gears. They don’t give you any big cigars, but they’ve got People magazines so you don’t have to listen to the hum of the hidden machine making it die.

As they took her hand away I could see she was trying to be brave. She even tried to smile. She even tried to wave. What they took away from me was more than they put in a shallow grave. It was what a hundred nights of heartache couldn’t save from making it die.

I’m ashamed to admit I even wondered how long it’d be until they finished sucking out her insides so I could get me a decent meal. When they let her back outside there was nothing in her eyes, and I knew that they had finished the job that had begun with our first lies of making it die.

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