The Living Years  



       Mike Rutherford & BA Robertson






       Every generation

       blames the one before.

       And all of their frustrations

       come 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 defense.




       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.