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.