Walking down the road in his big bad black shirt
The letters on his chest announce his pain
Says that he is hated by his own maker
I call him a fool and a liar in my brain

Who am I that judgment's mine
When I've seen grace . . .

He's looking at his shoes as he walks by me
Comfort in his ears as the walkman sings
Singer tells a lie and he's quick to buy it
I don't stop because there's one too many rings

Who am I that judgment's mine
When I've seen grace cross that line'

I am no more than any other man
I've been compared to no one
He is no worse, no better than I am
He's been compared to no one
We've been compared to no one

Covered in the dirt and sweat from his labors
I should tell him "Hi," but it's not my field
Sitting at the bar, he drinks his enslaver
He asks me for a game and he tells how he's been healed
He's been healed