He´s got a broken voice and a twisted smile,
Guess he´s been that way now for quite a while,
He´s got blood on his shoes and mud on his brim,
Did he do it to himself or was it done to him?

Now people say that he don´t look well,
But all he needs from what I can tell,
Is someone to help wash away all the paint,
From his purple hands before it gets too late.

I saw him stand alone under a broken street light,
So sincere, singing silent night,
But the trees there were full and the grass was green,
He was the sweetest thing I had ever seen.

He may move slow,
That don´t mean he´s going nowhere,
He may be moving slow,
But that don´t mean he´s going nowhere.