C AmEm G
Fred sits alone at his desk in the dark
C Am Em G
There's an awkward young shadow that waits in the hall
Am F Am Fm
He's cleared all his things and he's put them in boxes
CG
Things that remind him 'Life has been good'
Am
Twenty-five years
F
He's worked at the paper
C G
A man's here to take him downstairs
C F
And I'm sorry Mr Jones
G C
It's time
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