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