This is a song, that I wrote when I was young,

And I call it, the broken hearted blues,

The air on that night, was tempered like a knife,

And the people wore the face masks of a clown,

Don he was long, mis-shapen and forlorn,

And his woman ran away without a smile.



Days of the earth, are unbroken changeless turf,

But the faces of the men are something else.

In the wind, as a boy, was a spacious sexual toy,

But baby, now he's a toothless baggy man,

When the hills of the sun, make you feel that you are young,



Get good now, and face your face into the wind.

This is a song, that I wrote when I was young,

And I called it the broken hearted blues.