We spent so many Decembers
With snow in the middle of the room
And all those strange men who came to cut off the water
Half the year on a diet
Gathering bottles, counting pennies
And when I cross your path today, you look down on me…
Joe! You’ve no longer got the time
You’ve too much money
You’re too big now
Joe! You earn much too much!
Joe! You’ve no longer got the time
You’ve too much money
You’re too big now
You were a singer in third-rate joints
You poured your heart out between the tables
For a few big-wigs, a few furnace salesmen
Afterwards, you went to see some odd guys
For them to talk to you about revolution
When you see them today you no longer even notice them!
Joe! You’ve no longer got the time
You’ve too much money
You’re too big now
Joe! You earn much too much!
Joe! You’ve no longer got the time
You’ve too much money
You’re too big now
You’ve someone to manage your business
You’ve someone to calm your anger
There’s always someone to hear your methods
There are girls at the bottom of your bath
Flatterers the length of your corridors
But there’s nothing more alone than a fashionable singer!