Coming of age

Your red face, it tells a story

There’s bitterness in Balamory

Dream keepers that won’t let you in

For pent up pride and eager sin

What a time to be alive

And what a night to run

Wish you were still twenty-five

All pretty-faced and dumb

Purple patches, amber eyes

Your wardrobe makes a good disguise

Look at all the tales you told

Remember days when you turned old

When was it that you still believed

That fat man would come to town?

Carrots out on Christmas Eve

But nothing more than upset clowns

My red face won’t be the same

Rod for back and build a name

Whisper sweetly, tell me truth

Desperate hope of desperate youth

Now’s my moment, breathe it in

You’re too used to dust

When is it that the clock begins?

Or has it turned to rust?

Purple looks familiar now

Amber eyes that fade to brown

When’d I start to dress like you?

And dance the dance that fathers do?

When I was young I still believed

With passion on my side

Not reached the heights, nor cuff, nor sleeve

Never took it in my stride

As the years pass by my day

Black and white turn shades of grey

The flaws and imperfections last

But did more than I ever asked

Father sure, but man comes first

Son was quick to judge

Thought he could avoid the worst

But family’s a flood

Taught me through his faults and glory

Here we are in Balamory.

Two red faces look alike

Not what I planned, but that’s alright

What a time to be alive

And what a night to walk

Wish you were still twenty-five

Maybe then we’d talk