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