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