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(Not Too Late) |
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He's got a broken voice and a twisted smile, |
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Guess he's been that way for quite awhile, |
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Got blood on his shoes and mud on his brim, |
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Did he do it to himself or was it done to him? |
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Though people say he don't look well, |
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But all he needs from what I can tell, |
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Is someone to help wash away all the paint, |
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From his purple hands before it gets too late. |
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I saw him stand alone ... under a broke street light, |
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So sincere ... singing silent night, |
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But the trees were full ... and the grass was green, |
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It was the sweetest thing I had ever seen. |
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He may move slow, |
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But that don't mean he's going nowhere, |
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He may be moving slow, |
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But that don't mean he's going nowhere. |
