This is a song, that I wrote when I was young
And I call it, the broken hearted blues
The air on that night, was tempered like a knife,
And the people wore the face masks of a clown,
Don he was long, mis-shapen and forlorn,
And his woman ran away without a smile
Days of the earth, are unbroken changeless turf,
But the faces of the men are something else.
Chasing wind, as a boy, was a spacious sexual toy,
But baby, now he's toothless baggy man,
When the hills of the sun, make you feel that you are young,
Get good now, and face your face to the wind.
And this is a song, that I wrote when I was young
And I called it the broken hearted blues