He has nothing but a can of beer

Two crutches and the soot from the air

The nights of soaking in the city's dreams

He hates the rich but he hates in vain

If a power was to lift him up

Make him rich, would he admit it was luck?

Or say he'd earned it, and claim a state of grace

Just like the rich in this hateful place

What the hell is wrong with you?

You long to lord it like the rich folks do

As you command me from the depths of gin

To walk a tightrope in a gale force wind

Walk a tightrope in a gale force wind

I saw a dead man in the street today

And he'll stay there because he never paid

He was a stranger who would not go home

Blinded by sun on the streets of gold

What the hell is wrong with you?

You long to lord it like the rich folks do

You command me from the depths of gin

To walk a tightrope in a gale force wind

Mother mother would you dry my eyes

Doctor says that I will have to die

I went with someone and I woke to find

I'm now subhuman and I don't know why

I'm now subhuman and I don't know why

Nothing is what you'll you hear from me

When they ground me and spat me back on the street

Will I be sorry I chose reality

Instead of half-wit romance and greed?

Go apart, go right, go straight

And watch your friends become the kind you hate

And face distinction with a sheepish nod

Twilight of the underdog

What the hell is wrong with you?

You laugh at murder like the rich folks do

I can no more stop them in the state I'm in

Than I can walk a tightrope in a gale force wind

With no change whatsoever

With no change whatsoever

By night I just attack myself - I don't count

With no change whatsoever

I just attack myself