Broken
He's got a broken voice and a twisted smileGuess he's been that way now for quite a whileHe's got blood on his shoes and mud on his brimDid he do it to himself or was it done to him?
Now what people say that he don't look wellBut all he needs from what I can tellIs someone to help wash away all the paintFrom his purple hands before it gets too late
I saw him stand alone under a broken street lightSo sincerely singing silent nightBut the trees they were full and the grass was greenIt was the sweetest thing I had ever seen
He may move slow, that don't mean he's going nowhereHe may be moving slow, that don't mean he's going nowhere