The Turning of the Tide

I stopped to see where he was born, the last house on the quay
And the wind off that old river brought a wave of memories
I recalled a yellowed photograph, when he was still a boy
His face the same yet different from the night I watched him die

CHORUS
And the river flows on steadily, an endless stream of time
I watch the boats that come and go on the turning of the tide

We’d often stop and visit there on Sunday afternoons
He’d take me walking on the dock, among the buoys and booms
He used to say that life’s too short to never take a chance
Yet he was over sixty when he finally learned to dance

At Christmas when the family all came home and gathered there
I’d lie awake in bed and hear them laugh and sing downstairs
The clock would tap like the rain drops drumming on the window-sill
But now the house is boarded up and the empty street is still

Never Learned to Dance – Green Linnet, GLCD 1124
Words and Music, Robbie O’Connell © 1990
Slievenamon Music (BMI)