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DO LAm MIm SOL
Fred sits alone at his desk in the dark
DO LAm MIm SOL
There's an awkward young shadow that waits in the hall
LAm FA LAm FAm
He's cleared all his things and he's put them in boxes
DO SOL
Things that remind him: 'Life has been good'
LAm
Twenty-five years
FA
He's worked at the paper
DO SOL
A man's here to take him downstairs
DO FA
And I'm sorry, Mr. Jones
SOL DO
It's time
There was no party, there were no songs
'Cause today's just a day like the day that he started
Noone has left here that knows his first name
And life barrels on like a runaway train
Where the passengers change
They don't change anything
You get off; someone else can get on
And I'm sorry, Mr. Jones
It's time
Streetlight shines through the shades
Casting lines on the floor, and lines on his face
He reflects on the day
Fred gets his paints out and goes to the basement
Projecting some slides onto a plain white
Canvas and traces it
Fills in the spaces
He turns off the slides, and it doesn't look right
Yeah, and all of these bastards
Have taken his place
He's forgotten but not yet gone
And I'm sorry, Mr. Jones
And I'm sorry, Mr. Jones
And I'm sorry, Mr. Jones
It's time
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