Commentary:
"Fred sits alone at his desk in the dark,
There's an awkward, young shadow that waits in the hall,
He has cleared 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, there were no songs,
'Cause today's just a day like the day that he started,
No one is left here that knows his first name,
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'…
"And all of these bastards have taken his place!
He's forgotten and not yet gone.
'And I'm sorry, Mr. Jones,
'And I'm sorry, Mr. Jones,
'And I'm sorry, Mr. Jones, it's time.'"
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