They told me lines were flat.
The good hung heads, the others did too.
They told me you left from the struggler's bed,
and then you left it at that.

Hearin' the dances,
harmonica's stances,
the flourishes you cast on us all,
but there'll be tomorrow,
no cause for no sorrow,
time moves on, taking names of those who fall.

And so I heard, that you left,
and I heard they they wept,
and I heard everybody screaming high into the gardens,
and I heard that I must weep,
everybody in the bleak,
but I see you made it fine on your own,
Don't need that obligatory depression,
Your departure, peace and sound,
I've grown out of that obsession,
And so I've heard you're out of town.