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I walk right past his window when the light is growing dim |
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He looks away from me and as I glance in at him |
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He owns one bed, one bookcase and the television |
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He sits and watches and I'm glad I'm not there with him |
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There was a time when he was young |
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There was a time when he had no time to regret what he'd done |
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There are six men on the ground floor |
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Three stories up and there are sixteen more |
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And the stories they tell you think you've heard before |
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But listen closely, to be sure |
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There was a time when they were young |
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There was a time when they had no time to regret what they'd done |
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I see him on the street in the cold |
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He nods as if to greet me, I feel too young, and he too old |
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He is a nameless face to me |
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This is his hiding place I see |
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He talks to himself, I can see his breath |
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Sixteen rooms, sixteen men off the meth |
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There was a time when they were young |
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There was a time when they had no time to regret what they'd done |
