He's got a broken voice and a twisted smile, Guess been that way for awhile, Got blood on his shoes and mud on his brim, Did he do to himself or was it done to him?
People think don't look well, But all he needs from what I can tell, Is someone to wash away all the paint, From his purple hands before gets too late.
I saw him stand alone ... under a broke street light, So sincere ... singing silent But the trees were full ... and the grass was green, It the sweetest thing I had ever seen.
He may move slow, But that don't mean he's nowhere, He may be moving slow, But that don't mean he's going