Fred sits alone at his desk in the dark There’s an awkward young shadow that waits in the hall He’s cleared all his things and he’s put them in boxes
Things that remind him: “Life has been good”
Twenty-five years
He’s worked at the paper A man’s here to take him downstairs
And I’m sorry, Mr. Jones It’s time
黑暗中,弗雷德獨自坐在椅子上
一個笨拙的年輕身影正在大廳等候
他已經清空了所有的物品并裝進了箱子
那些物品提醒他:“生活曾經很美好。”
二十五年了
他一直做著文案工作
有人來這兒要將他帶到樓下我很抱歉,瓊斯先生
是時候了
There was no party, there were no songs
’Cause today’s just a day like the day that he started
No one 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
沒有宴會,也沒有歌聲
因為今天就像他開始工作的那天一樣這里再沒人知道他的名字
人生飛逝就像一列呼嘯而過的火車
乘客們不停變換
他們卻并未改變任何事物
你下車了;另一個人就會上去
我很抱歉,瓊斯先生是時候了
街燈透過暗影閃爍
在地上投下線條,也投在了他的臉上他仔細回想這一天的經歷
弗雷德拿出了他的顏料,走進了地下室在一張素白的畫布上放映了一些幻燈片并一路探查下去
填上了所有空白
他關掉了幻燈片,而它看上去不太對勁是的,所有這些混蛋
取代了他的位置
他已成為過去,但他還沒死去
我很抱歉,瓊斯先生我很抱歉,瓊斯先生我很抱歉,瓊斯先生是時候了