Fred Jones Part 2

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