Fred Jones, Pt. 2

Fred sits alone at his desk in the dark
 There's an awkward, young shadow that waits in the hall
 He has cleared all his things and he's put them in boxes
 Things that remind him that life has been good
 25 years he's worked at the paper
 A man's here to take him downstairs
 And I'm sorry, Mr. Jones, it's time
 ♪
 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
 Yeah, 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, it 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 yet
 And all of these bastards have taken his place
 He's forgotten and not yet gone
 And I'm sorry, Mr. Jones
 And I'm sorry, Mr. Jones
 And I'm sorry, Mr. Jones, it's time