There was a broken man
Who walked a broken mile.
He met some broken people
And they all wore broken smiles.
With his little crooked dog
And the broken things he had,
They lived in a broken home
And the broken ones were sad.
He'd wake each broken morning
And drive in his broken car
To do his broken job
Where broken people can't get far.
The broken man would work for hours
Before he'd leave his broken work
And drive back to his broken home
And be lonely, broken, near berserk.
The broken chain kept cycling
For the brokeness would not end.
Though broken as he was,
The broken man could not bend.
The broken man couldn't break the cycle
Of his little broken life
So he'll spend his broken days
Living in broken strife.
