| There’s an old man throwing breadcrumbs to the sparrows |
| Sitting on a bench beside the childrens playground |
| And he nods and he smiles as he hears the careless laughter |
| As I sit and watch the old man and the children |
| There’s a cold and lonely feeling running through me It is late in the day and the air is getting chilly |
| And it’s time to go home, soon the shadows will be falling |
| And I’ll spend another night |
| Waiting for the morning light |
| Like so many nights before, 'til his key is in the door |
| I’m amazed at all his words |
| Soaring like the flight of birds |
| But the message they can bring |
| Is the flutter of a wing |
| Making ripples in an ocean |
| Where the whales have ceased to sing |
| Down the slide she comes, my sisters youngest daughter |
| Giggles ringing in the air like clear blue water |
| And her hand is so warm and so confident and sandy |
| Lately I’ve a constant need to see them happy |
| Something breaks whenever one of them is crying |
| Looking back as we leave, I can see the bench is empty |
| But the sparrows remain and as ever keep on searching |
| And I’ll spend another night |
| Waiting for the morning light |
| Like so many nights before, 'til his key is in the door |
| I’m amazed at all his words |
| Soaring like the flight of birds |
| But the message they can bring |
| Is the flutter of a wing |
| Making ripples in an ocean |
| Where the whales have ceased to sing |