Fred Jones, Pt2 Lyrics - Ben Folds

Fred sits alone at his desk in the dark 

There's an awkward young shadow that waits in the hall 

He has packed all his things 

And he's put them in boxes 

Things that remind him that life has been good 

Twenty five 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 and there were no songs 

Cause today's just a day like the day that he started 

And no one is 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 

The streetlight it shines through the haze 

Casting lines on the floor 

And lines on his face 

He reflects on the day