When we are young, we ride the wild horse through the storm,
Riding bareback without a care,
As we age we seek a place that is cosy and warm,
Away from the icy night air.
What will your profound dreams contain old man?
When you have been abandoned by your clan.
Will you wish for one more day in the Sun?
Or after a lifetime of misery will you reach for a gun?
It’s not a song that is sung by angels.
It’s not a symphony of church bells,
It is just a short swim out to sea.