|I will never forget the walk to the station,
|Me with your suitcase being brotherly strong.
|And trying to make light of the whole situation,
|In mild conversation we moved through the throng,
|And above all the roar of the town was the blue sky,
|I could here the birds singing for the joy of the day
|And there was no support from the city forthcoming,
|No sympathy numbing your going away.
|It's hard to say goodbye.
|And there was you with your bright eyes and best dress for travelling
|And me in my work clothes, unshaven and plain,
|Oh, I fully intended to put in the half day,
|But my good intentions went with you on the train.
|And I never looked back as the train left the station,
|Crossed over the road and walked into the park,
|And there in a bar an old man was singing,
|And I sat there drinking until it got dark.
|And outside the trees they grew starlings like apples,
|Their hustle and chatter not dampened by the rain.
|That washed down the pavements and into the gutters,
|That soaked through my clothes as I set out again,
|And above me the stars were all hidden by rain clouds,
|The song of the old man still locked in my brain,
|And all emigration, the curse of a nation
|The setting now fitting his sad sweet refrain.