Bob Mould
All Those People Know
Fred sits alone at his desk in the darkThere's an awkward young shadow that waits in the hallHe's cleared all his things and he's put them in boxesThings that remind him: 'Life has been good'Twenty-five yearsHe's worked at the paperA man's here to take him downstairsAnd I'm sorry, Mr. JonesIt's timeThere was no party, there were no songs'Cause today's just a day like the day that he startedNo one is left here that knows his first nameAnd life barrels on like a runaway trainWhere the passengers changeThey don't change anythingYou get off; someone else can get onAnd I'm sorry, Mr. JonesIt's timeStreetlight shines through the shadesCasting lines on the floor, and lines on his faceHe reflects on the dayLetras de cancionesFred gets his paints out and goes to the basementProjecting some slides onto a plain whiteCanvas and traces itFills in the spacesHe turns off the slides, and it doesn't look rightYeah, and all of these bastardsHave taken his placeHe's forgotten but not yet goneAnd I'm sorry, Mr. JonesAnd I'm sorry, Mr. JonesAnd I'm sorry, Mr. JonesIt's time
From Letras Mania