| You’re alone above the street somewhere | 
| Wondering how you’ll ever count out there | 
| You can walk, you can talk, you can fight | 
| But inside you’ve got something to write | 
| In your hand you hold your only friend | 
| Never spend your guitar or your pen | 
| Your guitar or your pen | 
| Your guitar or your pen | 
| Your guitar or your pen | 
| Your guitar or your pen | 
| When you take up a pencil and sharpen it up When you’re kicking the fence and still nothing will budge | 
| When the words are immobile until you sit down | 
| Never feel they’re worth keeping, they’re not easily found | 
| Then you know in some strange, unexplainable way | 
| You must really have something | 
| Jumping, thumping, fighting, hiding away | 
| Important to say | 
| When you sing through the verse and you end in a scream | 
| And you swear and you curse 'cause the rhyming ain’t clean | 
| But it suddenly comes after years of delay | 
| You pick up your guitar, you can suddenly play | 
| When your fingers are bleeding and the knuckles are white | 
| Then you can be sure, you can open the door | 
| Get off of the floor tonight | 
| You have something to write | 
| When you want to complain, there’s no one can stop you | 
| But when your music proclaims, there’s no one can top you | 
| You are wearing you heart on your jumping feet | 
| You’ve got a head start away from the street | 
| But is that what you want, to be rich and be gone? | 
| Could be there’s just one thing left in the end | 
| Your guitar and your pen | 
| When you sing to your mum, and you hum and you croon | 
| And she says that she’d like it with more of a tune | 
| And you smash your guitar at the end of the bed | 
| Then you stick it together and start writing again | 
| And you know that it won’t be too long 'til your back | 
| To bring her some money, she’s calling you honey | 
| Stashed in a bloody great sack | 
| In your Cadillac | 
| You’re alone | 
| You’re alone | 
| You’re alone above the street somewhere | 
| Wondering how you’ll ever count out there | 
| You can walk, you can talk, you can fight | 
| But inside you’ve got something to write | 
| In your hand you hold your only friend | 
| Never spend your guitar or your pen | 
| Your guitar or your pen | 
| Your guitar or your pen | 
| Your guitar or your pen | 
| Your guitar or your pen | 
| Your guitar or your pen | 
| Your guitar or your pen | 
| Your guitar or your pen | 
| Never spend your guitar or your pen |