Fred sits alone at his desk in the dark There’s an awkward young shadow that waits in the hall He’s cleared all his things and he’s put them in boxes
　　Things that remind him: “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
　　黑暗中，弗雷德独自坐在椅子上
　　一个笨拙的年轻身影正在大厅等候
　　他已经清空了所有的物品并装进了箱子
　　那些物品提醒他：“生活曾经很美好。”
　　二十五年了
　　他一直做着文案工作
　　有人来这儿要将他带到楼下我很抱歉，琼斯先生
　　是时候了
　　There was no party, there were no songs
　　’Cause today’s just a day like the day that he started
　　No one has 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
　　Streetlight shines through the shades Casting lines on the floor, and lines on his face He reflects on the day
　　Fred gets his paints out and goes to the basement Projecting some slides onto a plain white Canvas and traces it
　　Fills in the spaces He turns off the slides, and it doesn’t look right Yeah, and all of these bastards
　　Have taken his place He’s forgotten but not yet gone
　　And I’m sorry, Mr. Jones And I’m sorry, Mr. Jones And I’m sorry, Mr. Jones It’s time
　　没有宴会，也没有歌声
　　因为今天就像他开始工作的那天一样这里再没人知道他的名字
　　人生飞逝就像一列呼啸而过的火车
　　乘客们不停变换
　　他们却并未改变任何事物
　　你下车了；另一个人就会上去
　　我很抱歉，琼斯先生是时候了
　　街灯透过暗影闪烁
　　在地上投下线条，也投在了他的脸上他仔细回想这一天的经历
　　弗雷德拿出了他的颜料，走进了地下室在一张素白的画布上放映了一些幻灯片并一路探查下去
　　填上了所有空白
　　他关掉了幻灯片，而它看上去不太对劲是的，所有这些混蛋
　　取代了他的位置
　　他已成为过去，但他还没死去
　　我很抱歉，琼斯先生我很抱歉，琼斯先生我很抱歉，琼斯先生是时候了