The tears that build up are never easily shed

By the old man with the walking stick

That beats his leg to make it work

The youth that stands at the bus stop

Blinking into the sun

Waiting for the bus that will never come

The little girl just out of school

Holding on to mummy’s hand

Wondering what’s for tea tonight

But mummy’s’ only thought is to keep all men away

As she buttons her coat up tight to the throat

Signalling to every lion weasel and snake

Never again

All of them try to avoid the debris

The fallout of their lives

Hanging around

From the latest storm

The half -chewed twigs and branches of branches

Some large some small

Ripped up rooted trees

Displaced

And the sun shows its awkward face

In amongst the vacant nests of seasons past

Whilst all the birds wait until they feel safe

So, they won’t have to pluck each other’s feathers out

But the storm still rages on the eastern front

As fear and anger rear their unwanted heads

And belligerence and bewilderment

Will surely turn into tears and sorrow

Before the week is out

But all the time there is more than one voice left to shout

A chorus rings out - NO

Hope remains more than just another four- letter word

The tears that build up are never easily shed

By the old man with the walking stick

That beats his leg to make it work

The youth that stands at the bus stop

Blinking into the sun

Waiting for the bus that will never come

The little girl just out of school

Holding on to mummy’s hand

Wondering what’s for tea tonight

But mummy’s’ only thought is to keep all men away

As she buttons her coat up tight to the throat

Signalling to every lion weasel and snake

Never again

All of them try to avoid the debris

The fallout of their lives

Hanging around

From the latest storm

The half -chewed twigs and branches of branches

Some large some small

Ripped up rooted trees

Displaced

And the sun shows its awkward face

In amongst the vacant nests of seasons past

Whilst all the birds wait until they feel safe

So, they won’t have to pluck each other’s feathers out

But the storm still rages on the eastern front

As fear and anger rear their unwanted heads

And belligerence and bewilderment

Will surely turn into tears and sorrow

Before the week is out

But all the time there is more than one voice left to shout

A chorus rings out - NO

Hope remains more than just another four- letter word

The tears that build up are never easily shed

By the old man with the walking stick

That beats his leg to make it work

The youth that stands at the bus stop

Blinking into the sun

Waiting for the bus that will never come

The little girl just out of school

Holding on to mummy’s hand

Wondering what’s for tea tonight

But mummy’s’ only thought is to keep all men away

As she buttons her coat up tight to the throat

Signalling to every lion weasel and snake

Never again

All of them try to avoid the debris

The fallout of their lives

Hanging around

From the latest storm

The half -chewed twigs and branches of branches

Some large some small

Ripped up rooted trees

Displaced

And the sun shows its awkward face

In amongst the vacant nests of seasons past

Whilst all the birds wait until they feel safe

So, they won’t have to pluck each other’s feathers out

But the storm still rages on the eastern front

As fear and anger rear their unwanted heads

And belligerence and bewilderment

Will surely turn into tears and sorrow

Before the week is out

But all the time there is more than one voice left to shout

A chorus rings out - NO

Hope remains more than just another four- letter word

The tears that build up are never easily shed

By the old man with the walking stick

That beats his leg to make it work

The youth that stands at the bus stop

Blinking into the sun

Waiting for the bus that will never come

The little girl just out of school

Holding on to mummy’s hand

Wondering what’s for tea tonight

But mummy’s’ only thought is to keep all men away

As she buttons her coat up tight to the throat

Signalling to every lion weasel and snake

Never again

All of them try to avoid the debris

The fallout of their lives

Hanging around

From the latest storm

The half -chewed twigs and branches of branches

Some large some small

Ripped up rooted trees

Displaced

And the sun shows its awkward face

In amongst the vacant nests of seasons past

Whilst all the birds wait until they feel safe

So, they won’t have to pluck each other’s feathers out

But the storm still rages on the eastern front

As fear and anger rear their unwanted heads

And belligerence and bewilderment

Will surely turn into tears and sorrow

Before the week is out

But all the time there is more than one voice left to shout

A chorus rings out - NO

Hope remains more than just another four- letter word

The tears that build up are never easily shed

By the old man with the walking stick

That beats his leg to make it work

The youth that stands at the bus stop

Blinking into the sun

Waiting for the bus that will never come

The little girl just out of school

Holding on to mummy’s hand

Wondering what’s for tea tonight

But mummy’s’ only thought is to keep all men away

As she buttons her coat up tight to the throat

Signalling to every lion weasel and snake

Never again

All of them try to avoid the debris

The fallout of their lives

Hanging around

From the latest storm

The half -chewed twigs and branches of branches

Some large some small

Ripped up rooted trees

Displaced

And the sun shows its awkward face

In amongst the vacant nests of seasons past

Whilst all the birds wait until they feel safe

So, they won’t have to pluck each other’s feathers out

But the storm still rages on the eastern front

As fear and anger rear their unwanted heads

And belligerence and bewilderment

Will surely turn into tears and sorrow

Before the week is out

But all the time there is more than one voice left to shout

A chorus rings out - NO

Hope remains more than just another four- letter word

The tears that build up are never easily shed

By the old man with the walking stick

That beats his leg to make it work

The youth that stands at the bus stop

Blinking into the sun

Waiting for the bus that will never come

The little girl just out of school

Holding on to mummy’s hand

Wondering what’s for tea tonight

But mummy’s’ only thought is to keep all men away

As she buttons her coat up tight to the throat

Signalling to every lion weasel and snake

Never again

All of them try to avoid the debris

The fallout of their lives

Hanging around

From the latest storm

The half -chewed twigs and branches of branches

Some large some small

Ripped up rooted trees

Displaced

And the sun shows its awkward face

In amongst the vacant nests of seasons past

Whilst all the birds wait until they feel safe

So, they won’t have to pluck each other’s feathers out

But the storm still rages on the eastern front

As fear and anger rear their unwanted heads

And belligerence and bewilderment

Will surely turn into tears and sorrow

Before the week is out

But all the time there is more than one voice left to shout

A chorus rings out - NO

Hope remains more than just another four- letter word

The tears that build up are never easily shed

By the old man with the walking stick

That beats his leg to make it work

The youth that stands at the bus stop

Blinking into the sun

Waiting for the bus that will never come

The little girl just out of school

Holding on to mummy’s hand

Wondering what’s for tea tonight

But mummy’s’ only thought is to keep all men away

As she buttons her coat up tight to the throat

Signalling to every lion weasel and snake

Never again

All of them try to avoid the debris

The fallout of their lives

Hanging around

From the latest storm

The half -chewed twigs and branches of branches

Some large some small

Ripped up rooted trees

Displaced

And the sun shows its awkward face

In amongst the vacant nests of seasons past

Whilst all the birds wait until they feel safe

So, they won’t have to pluck each other’s feathers out

But the storm still rages on the eastern front

As fear and anger rear their unwanted heads

And belligerence and bewilderment

Will surely turn into tears and sorrow

Before the week is out

But all the time there is more than one voice left to shout

A chorus rings out - NO

Hope remains more than just another four- letter word

The tears that build up are never easily shed

By the old man with the walking stick

That beats his leg to make it work

The youth that stands at the bus stop

Blinking into the sun

Waiting for the bus that will never come

The little girl just out of school

Holding on to mummy’s hand

Wondering what’s for tea tonight

But mummy’s’ only thought is to keep all men away

As she buttons her coat up tight to the throat

Signalling to every lion weasel and snake

Never again

All of them try to avoid the debris

The fallout of their lives

Hanging around

From the latest storm

The half -chewed twigs and branches of branches

Some large some small

Ripped up rooted trees

Displaced

And the sun shows its awkward face

In amongst the vacant nests of seasons past

Whilst all the birds wait until they feel safe

So, they won’t have to pluck each other’s feathers out

But the storm still rages on the eastern front

As fear and anger rear their unwanted heads

And belligerence and bewilderment

Will surely turn into tears and sorrow

Before the week is out

But all the time there is more than one voice left to shout

A chorus rings out - NO

Hope remains more than just another four- letter word

The tears that build up are never easily shed

By the old man with the walking stick

That beats his leg to make it work

The youth that stands at the bus stop

Blinking into the sun

Waiting for the bus that will never come

The little girl just out of school

Holding on to mummy’s hand

Wondering what’s for tea tonight

But mummy’s’ only thought is to keep all men away

As she buttons her coat up tight to the throat

Signalling to every lion weasel and snake

Never again

All of them try to avoid the debris

The fallout of their lives

Hanging around

From the latest storm

The half -chewed twigs and branches of branches

Some large some small

Ripped up rooted trees

Displaced

And the sun shows its awkward face

In amongst the vacant nests of seasons past

Whilst all the birds wait until they feel safe

So, they won’t have to pluck each other’s feathers out

But the storm still rages on the eastern front

As fear and anger rear their unwanted heads

And belligerence and bewilderment

Will surely turn into tears and sorrow

Before the week is out

But all the time there is more than one voice left to shout

A chorus rings out - NO

Hope remains more than just another four- letter word