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