More and more
my thoughts turn to you
so aware of time
I’m the age now
that you were
when the pair of you parted
you got that rented house
on the edge of town

We’d stay at weekends
watching winter’s tide sweep in
standing in the falling snow
the garden and the fields disappearing
said ‘throw another log on the fire’
said ‘dad, your house is cold’

At fifteen, I was nothing
lost in my own sea of nonsense
I didn’t ask you anything
I didn’t know to say a word
where was my empathy
you let nothing show

Every other Saturday we’d gather 
at your house on the edge of town
it all felt new to me
felt so exciting
a fresh world of fields to explore
of walks to take and fires to set 
with or without you

At fifteen, so immature
lost in my own mythology
I never really realised 
you could be hurting
I didn't stop to think
when maybe your son 
could have been there for you

Living raw, living alone
twelve days at a time
the snow coming down
in the house
on the edge of town

While we still have some time
let’s talk openly
let’s talk now...