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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