I remember speaking to the child on the corner of Robusto and Jane
Who I gave a quarter just to give her her way
She was so easy to please with her parking meter brain
Something as simple as that can either ruin or make your day

If we all came out of an egg would the question beg a God who cared
To give you such a soft shell and such a cynical stare
We come in scared and we leave impaired
Torn from womb and put underground only to be the remains of something of someone, from somewhere

We will be relics, and not the kind behind museum glass
Just little pieces of paper on the walls of others who soon too will pass
And the little girl so pleased with donations
Will soon be reaped of her tumultuous temptations
When her ironclad youth is misled by its sail