The Living Years
by Mike Rutherford / B A Robertson

Every generation
Blames the one before
And all of their frustration
Comes beating on your door.
I know that I'm a prisoner
To all my father held so dear,
I know that I'm a hostage
To all his hopes and fears.
I just wish I could have told him
In the living years.

Crumpled bits of paper
Filled with imperfect thought,
Stilted conversations
I'm afraid that's all we've got.
You say you just don't see it,
He says it's perfect sense.
You just can't get agreement
In this present tense.
We all talk a different language
Talking in defence.

Say it loud, say it clear,
You can listen as well as you hear.
It's too late when we die
To admit we don't see eye to eye.

So we open up a quarrel
Between the present and the past,
We only sacrifice the future
It's the bitterness that lasts
So don't yield to the fortunes
You sometimes see as fate,
It may have a new perspective
On a different day,
And if you don't give up
And don't give in
You may just be ok.

Say it loud, say it clear,
You can listen as well as you hear.
It's too late when we die
To admit we don't see eye to eye.

I wasn't there that morning
When my father passed away,
I didn't get to tell him
All the things I had to say.
I think I caught his spirit
Later that same year,
I'm sure I heard his echo
In my baby's new born tears.
I just wish I could have told him
In the living years.