Never leaves his house, only leaves to get the mail,
through over grown bushes, always walks the same trail.
Use to spend every Sunday praying, in the house of the Lord,
as soon as he was done, sped away in his rusty old Ford.

Always alone,
he’s Alone Man.
Doesn’t want to be another drone,
Alone Man.

Not invited to anything anymore, because he never shows,
as for where is family went, no one really knows.
Talks to himself in the mirror, every single day,
“*******” is the only thing he ever seems to say.

Always alone,
he’s Alone Man.
Doesn’t want to be another drone,
Alone Man.

When night finally falls, the lights never go out,
we hear a lot of screaming, all he does it shout.
Yelling at his mirror, an argument going on,
it goes on and on forever, all the way until dawn.

It’s the first time he’s left his house, in about fifty years,
only because inside his body, he ain’t got anymore moving gears.
Now he lives in a rectangle box, buried underground,
no tombstone, no worries, now he can’t be found.

Always alone,
Alone Man.
Forever alone,
The Alone Man.