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BEN FOLDS FIVE "Fred Jones Pt 2"
CFred sAmits alEmone at hGis desk in the dark There's an CawkwarAmd young sEmhadow thGat waits in the hall He's Amcleared allF his thingAms and hFme's put them in boxes CThings Gthat remind him: 'Life has been good' AmTwenty-five years He's Fworked at the paper A Cman's here tGo take him downstairs AnCd I'm Fsorry, Mr. Jones GIt's Ctime
There was no party, there were no songs 'Cause today's just a day like the day that he started Noone has left here that knows his first name And life barrels on like a runaway train Where the passengers change They don't change anything You get off; someone else can get on And I'm sorry, Mr. Jones It's time Streetlight shines through the shades Casting lines on the floor, and lines on his face He reflects on the day Fred gets his paints out and goes to the basement Projecting some slides onto a plain white Canvas and traces it Fills in the spaces He turns off the slides, and it doesn't look right Yeah, and all of these bastards Have taken his place He's forgotten but not yet gone And I'm sorry, Mr. Jones And I'm sorry, Mr. Jones And I'm sorry, Mr. Jones It's time