He drowns the voice of fear and blame In the bottom of his glass As he reminisces of the past Oh and how Nothing ever mattered before A mortgage and a credit score Scribbled pages on his bedroom floor And he searches inside to find The things which might define him Is it a broken world or is he to blame? His weathered hands are shaking A younger face berates him From the inside of A broken picture frame He years for days when things were new Oh life had a brighter hue Now the days burn by like winfield blue Oh and he Played his cards and played them safe Never truly new the stakes Hearts for diamonds surely sealed his fate And he searches inside to find The things which might define him Is it a broken world or is he to blame? His weathered hands are shaking A younger face berates him From the inside of A broken picture frame He finally writes that song at last Pours himself another glass Maybe this will be his rise to fame In his ballad about shame And he calls it broken picture frame