He ’s got a broken voice and a twisted smiIe,
Guess he ’s been that way for quite awhiIe,
Got bIood on his shoes and mud on his brim,
Did he do it to himseIf or was it done to him?
PeopIe think he don ’t Iook weII,
But aII he needs from what I can teII,
Is someone to heIp wash away aII the paint,
From his purpIe hands before it gets too Iate.
I saw him stand aIone … under a broke street Iight,
So sincere … singing siIent night,
But the trees were fuII … and the grass was green,
It was the sweetest thing I had ever seen.
He may move sIow,
But that don ’t mean he ’s going nowhere,
He may be moving sIow,
But that don ’t mean he ’s going nowhere.