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