I was about to write a song about the fear and the doubt

But my pen ran out

It captured the emotions of a lover and a lout

But my pen ran out

So the picture wasn't painted and the story wasn't told

No one knows the author 'cause the record never sold

And I know they never will until he's bitter and he's old

His time ran out



I was gonna share my blues with a nation full of blues

But my pen ran out

I was gonna spread the news of the way I always lose

But my pen ran out

So I'll keep an envelope with all the words I should have said

Hide it in a tiny box underneath my bed

And written on the outside will be 'open when he's dead'

And written on the outside will be 'open when he's dead'



His time ran out, his time ran out

His time ran out, his time ran out