Well I been downhearted baby, ever since the day we met
So I hid behind all those old songs, baby how blue can you get
And the smoke filled my lungs like I was dying
And the summer sunset kissed my fingertips
So someone grab my wrists and pull me out of this
Take my money, take my wallet, take my shoes
Get a good, good hold of me and pull on the count of three
Just do whatever you've gotta do
Do what you gotta do
And it's cold outside on a Monday
Maybe that's the weather's sympathy
We hate the traffic and the tax forms, and our day jobs
What ungrateful men are we
What, then, do I do with all these feelings
All the anger, all the there, but Grace, go I