Mr. Richard Jones

Skull and two crossbones

Can't be bought or sold

Detached and lost and cold

Everyone he knows wears a black halo

Impulse misery smoking on Queen Street



Stand your lonely ground, in the middle of nowhere

Things come round and round

To the middle of nowhere



Passion lies in seasons

Leaves from the spring to fall

So you have your reasons

For not having it all

But the cold winter coming back



Stand your lonely ground

In the middle of nowhere

Things come round and round

To the middle of nowhere



Send the good on down if you pretend to care

Things come round and round

To the middle of nowhere



Meanwhile we're all damned



Mr. Richard Jones

Please don't break my bones

Impulse misery hurts too much for me



Stand my lonely ground

In the middle of nowhere

Things come round and round

To the middle of nowhere