time was

He never talked that much as a kid
Just went off to his room and hid
Listened to every word they all said
Then held his own conversation in his head

 Well he always was a momma’s boy
Proffered to read books than to play football
Lived out a science fiction fantasy
Covering his tracks with mystery 

And the wind just kept on blowing
And he just kept on growing
And it’s so hard to know
Where the time goes 

Pretty soon he got to feeling lonesome and sick
So he picked up a guitar and started to pick
And the passion that had laid dormant inside
Spilled out before him no longer denied 

And the Earth just kept on turning
And he just kept on leaving
And it’s so hard to know
Where the time goes 

So one day the becomes a man
Faces up to all the things he once ran
Take some chances, swallows his pride
Fills the spaces where something in him died 

Now the man listens out in the dead of the night
Hears the words in his head and begins to write
About how everything happens in its own time
And I should know cause his words are mine 

And the wind just keeps on blowing
And we just keep on growing
And the Earth just keeps on turning
And we just keep on learning

Written: July 1999
Copyright Nicholas Treadwel1 2003