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.