You can say the soul is gone, and the feeling is just not there

Not like it was so long ago

On the empty page before you, you can fill in what you care

But try to make it new before you go

Take the simple case of the sarge who can't go back to war

'Cause the hippies tore down everything that he was fighting for

Or the lovers on the blankets that the city turned to whores

With memories of green kissed by the sun

You can say the soul is gone and close another door

Just be sure that yours is not the one

And I'm singing for the stringman who lately lost his wife

There is no dearer friend of mine that I know in this life

On his shoulder rests a violin, for his head, where chaos reigns

But his heart can't find a simple way to live with all those things

All those things

All those strings to pull

He's a stringman

All those things