Fred Jones, Pt. 2 (with West Australian Symphony Orchestra) - Live at Kings Park, Perth, Australia - March 2005

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 has put them in boxes
 Things that remind him that life has been good
 Twenty-five years he has worked at the paper
 A man is here to take him downstairs
 And I'm sorry, Mr. Jones
 It's time
 There was no party and there were no songs
 'Cause today is just a day like the day that he started
 No one is 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
 The street light 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
 Yah, 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