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.