The ones that wheel and deal and whirl and twirl 
And play games with each other in their sand-box world 
And you can't find it either in the no-talent fools  [bad word] around gallant 
And make [bad word] for the ones that got talent 
And it ain't in the ones that ain't got any talent but think they do 
And think they're foolin' you 
The ones who jump on the wagon 
Just for a while 'cause they know it's in style 
To get their kicks, get out of it quick 
And make all kinds of rnoney and chicks 

And you yell to yourself and you throw down yer hat 
Sayin', "Christ do I gotta be like that 
Ain't there no one here that knows where I'm at 
Ain't there no one here that knows how I feel 
Good God Almighty 
THAT STUFF AINT REAL" 

No but that ain't yer game, it ain't even yer race 
You can't hear yer name, you can't see yer face 
You gotta look some other place 
And where do you look for this hope that yer seekin' 
Where do you look for this lamp that's a-burnin' 
Where do you look for this oil well gushin' 
Where do you look for this candle that's glowin' 
Where do you look for this hope that you know is there 
And out there somewhere 

And your feet can only walk down two kinds of roads 
Your eyes can only look through two kinds of windows 
Your nose can only smell two kinds of hallways 
You can touch and twist 
And turn two kinds of doorknobs 
You can either go to the church of your choice 
Or you can go to Brooklyn State Hospital 
And though it's only my opinion 
I may be right or wrong 
You'll find them both 
In the Grand Canyon 
At sundown