Jimmy Ruffin wasn't even supposed to sing it. That's the first thing you have to understand about the lyrics to What Becomes of the Broken Hearted. Originally, the song was intended for The Spinners, but Ruffin heard the track and basically begged the producers to let him have a crack at it. He saw something in those words that went beyond the standard "boy meets girl, boy loses girl" trope of the 1960s Motown factory. It’s a song about the absolute, crushing void.
Most pop songs of that era had a silver lining. There was a "maybe she’ll come back" or a "I’ll find someone new" tucked into the bridge. Not here.
The brutal honesty of the opening lines
"As I walk this land of broken dreams, I have visions of many things." It’s heavy. Right out of the gate, the lyrics to What Becomes of the Broken Hearted set a scene that feels more like a post-apocalyptic wasteland than a radio hit. William Weatherspoon, Paul Riser, and James Dean—the writers behind the masterpiece—didn't lean on clichés. They wrote about a "land of broken dreams." That isn't just a metaphor for a breakup; it’s a geographical description of depression.
You’ve probably felt that.
That specific sensation where the world keeps moving, the sun keeps shining, but you’re stuck in a grayscale version of reality. Ruffin’s delivery makes you believe he’s actually walking those streets. The lyrics don't just describe sadness; they describe a loss of direction. "But happiness is just an illusion, filled with sadness and confusion." Honestly, that is a dark sentiment for 1966. It’s cynical. It’s real.
Why the "Search for Peace of Mind" resonates
If you look closely at the lyrics to What Becomes of the Broken Hearted, the protagonist isn't looking for his ex-girlfriend. He isn't asking for her to come back or begging for a second chance. He’s looking for "peace of mind."
That is a massive distinction.
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Most people searching for these lyrics are doing so because they feel that same lack of internal quiet. The song identifies a universal human condition: the restless, agonizing search for a way to stop the internal noise after a trauma. When Ruffin sings about searching for a "starting point" but not knowing where to begin, he’s touching on the paralysis of grief. It’s a loop. You want to move forward, but the lyrics remind us that the "roots of love" are often just "seeds of hatred" that "grow to cause you pain."
It’s almost Shakespearean in its bleakness.
The song doesn't provide an easy out. It acknowledges that once the heart is shattered, the very concept of love becomes a threat. You start seeing the world through a lens of inevitable failure. "I'm searching, though I don't succeed." That's the line that kills me. He isn't succeeding. He's just trying. Sometimes, just trying is the only victory you get.
The Motown machine vs. the raw emotion
The Motown "Funk Brothers" provided the backing track, and while the arrangement is lush—those soaring strings and the steady, driving beat—the lyrics provide a sharp, jagged contrast. Usually, Motown was about polish. This was about the dirt under the fingernails of the soul.
Think about the middle of the song.
"I know I've got to find some kind of proof that I will be leaving, to find the truth." He’s looking for evidence that life won't always feel like this. He hasn't found it yet. He's just hoping it exists. This nuance is why the song survived the British Invasion, the disco era, and the rise of hip-hop. It’s been covered by everyone from Dave Stewart and Colin Blunstone to Rod Stewart and Joan Osborne, but Ruffin’s version remains the definitive one because of his vulnerability. He sounds like a man who is actually lost.
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A deeper dive into the bridge
The bridge of the lyrics to What Becomes of the Broken Hearted shifts the perspective slightly. "Every day heartaches grow a little stronger / I can't stand this pain much longer." It’s a plea for endurance. In the mid-sixties, men weren't exactly encouraged to be this transparent about their emotional fragility. Ruffin broke that mold. He made it okay to admit that the pain was becoming physically unbearable.
- The song spent 11 weeks on the UK charts before even hitting the Top 50.
- It eventually reached #7 on the Billboard Hot 100.
- It’s often cited as one of the greatest "heartbreak" songs because it lacks bitterness—it only has sorrow.
There is no "villain" in these lyrics. There’s no cheating spouse or lying lover mentioned. It’s just the aftermath. It’s the "becoming." The title itself is a question: What becomes of them? The song suggests that what becomes of them is a perpetual state of wandering. They become ghosts in their own lives, searching for a light that might have gone out for good.
Semantic variations and the soul of the song
People often confuse the lyrics with other soul classics of the time, but the "land of broken dreams" line is the fingerprint. If you’re trying to memorize it or use it for a project, pay attention to the phrasing of "the fruit of love is all in vain." It’s a biblical allusion, whether intentional or not, suggesting that the very natural act of loving leads to a harvest of nothingness.
It’s heavy stuff for a three-minute pop record.
Actually, the original version had a spoken-word intro that was cut from the final single. In that intro, Ruffin talked about the world being a place where love is a "fleeting thing." Removing that was a smart move by the producers. It allowed the music to swell and the lyrics to What Becomes of the Broken Hearted to hit the listener immediately without any preamble.
Applying the lyrics to modern life
We live in a world of "moving on" and "self-care." We’re told to "get over it" or "find a distraction." Jimmy Ruffin’s lyrics argue for the validity of staying in the pain for a while. They give permission to be "broken hearted" without a timeline for recovery.
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If you're dissecting these lyrics for their poetic value, notice the lack of complex rhymes. "Dreams/things," "mind/find," "succeed/need." The simplicity is the strength. It doesn't need a thesaurus to tell you it hurts. It uses basic, primal language to describe a basic, primal agony.
The lasting legacy of Ruffin's "Land of Broken Dreams"
It’s interesting to note that Jimmy Ruffin never quite reached these heights again. He had other hits, sure, but nothing that pierced the cultural consciousness like this. Maybe it’s because you can only capture this specific kind of lightning in a bottle once. You can’t manufacture this level of "broken."
When you listen to the song today, it doesn't feel like a "Golden Oldie." It feels like a transmission from a very dark room that we’ve all sat in at some point. The lyrics to What Becomes of the Broken Hearted aren't just a period piece; they are a map of a place that hasn't changed in sixty years. The "land of broken dreams" is still there. People are still walking it.
Actionable insights for the music lover
If you want to truly appreciate the depth of this track, try these steps:
- Listen to the Dave Stewart and Colin Blunstone 1980s cover. It strips away the Motown soul and replaces it with a haunting, synth-driven melancholy that highlights how well the lyrics stand up even without the wall of sound.
- Read the lyrics as a poem without music. You’ll notice the rhythmic cadence of the "I'm searching" refrains. It feels like a march—a slow, tired trudge through the mud.
- Compare the song to "My Girl" or "I Can't Help Myself." Notice how the other Motown hits are about the presence of love, while this is the only one that focuses entirely on its absence as a permanent state.
- Watch Jimmy Ruffin perform it live on YouTube. Look at his eyes. He isn't just "performing" a hit; he’s relaying a message.
The "truth" the song seeks isn't a happy one. The truth is that some heartbreaks don't have a neat resolution. Sometimes the "broken hearted" just keep walking, searching for a peace of mind that may or may not be an illusion. That's the power of the song. It doesn't lie to you. It sits with you in the dark and acknowledges that, yeah, it’s pretty bad out here.