
Family taught him right from wrong, they told him local tales and children’s songs. Sunday school was his shelter, with his friends Joe and Walter.
Now those days seem far away. An empty swing where he once played. Now Bill’s grown so fat and bald. He never thought that he’d grow old
And everyday when he gets the train, looks out the window and thinks in vain, "If I could only be that boy again".
And everyday when he gets the train, looks out the window and thinks in vain, "If I could only be that boy again".
His sales job it gets him down, same old faces, same old sounds. Heart attacks, orthopaedic backs. Documents in labelled racks. His wife can’t stand the sight of him, with his routine glass of gin, She makes his lunch of processed ham, And waits in for the meter man.
Another day, another gin, his kids don’t even notice him. Something different about his face, His happy smile seems out of place. His family gathered round for tea, eyes fixed on their new tellyNewsflash came, then it saidBill McCai was just found dead. No more windows, no more trainsHung himself out in the rain, now he’ll never be that boy again. And we say bye-bye Bill McCai


