He’s retired now himself, my boy Clem And home to the cottage he came For Libby, his wife and Clem look for us now It’s back’ards but things ain’t the same. And we all live a life of quiet now In the village where the river’s in spate. We watch from the garden as the days just go by Rarely leaving through our creaky gate.
But it’s good to be here in the village With our kinfolk not too far away With Libby and Clem here beside us It’s different but the clouds aren’t just grey. There will come a time when I shuffle off too But not too soon I hope, not too soon For there’s lots of odd things that I’ve still yet to do Not wrapped up in some useless cocoon.