Mr. Richard Jones Skull and two crossbones Can't be bought or sold Detached and lost and cold Everyone he knows wears a black halo Impulse misery smoking on Queen Street Stand your lonely ground, in the middle of nowhere Things come round and round To the middle of nowhere Passion lies in seasons Leaves from the spring to fall So you have your reasons For not having it all But the cold winter coming back Stand your lonely ground In the middle of nowhere Things come round and round To the middle of nowhere Send the good on down if you pretend to care Things come round and round To the middle of nowhere Meanwhile we're all damned Mr. Richard Jones Please don't break my bones Impulse misery hurts too much for me Stand my lonely ground In the middle of nowhere Things come round and round To the middle of nowhere