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