Eric Bogle – A Reason For It All Lyrics

Back to the nest they all go creeping, leaving Clare alone again. It’s been a long and lonely time since Clare could hear the rain. Winter weeping on the city, a wet and windy day in Sydney,
rain drops rolling fat and heavy down Clare’s window pane. I don’t want to hear, I don’t want to hear it at all. We are not born just so we can die, there must be an answer and
we’ve got to try to make some sense of it; to try to find a reason for it all. That’s just how it is, don’t look for a reason at all. Spring has come at last to Sydney; flowers are blooming in the city. Summer’s smiling on the city, it’s another lovely day in Sydney, sunshine pouring down like honey. Tired old people die alone every day, don’t blame me, I didn’t make it that way. Can’t you understand what I’m trying to say, there must an answer;
there must be a way to make some sense of it, to try to find a reason for it all. That’s just how it is, don’t look for a reason at all. Don’t talk to me about life’s seasons, don’t ask me for answers,
don’t ask me for reasons. Don’t talk to me about lonely souls crying, dark quiet rooms with old people dying. From the moment we’re born, we start to die; a man can go crazy if he keeps asking why. We are not born just so we can die, there must be an answer and
we’ve got to try to make some sense of it; to try to find a reason for it all. Don’t talk to me about the meaning of life; don’t sing your songs that cut like a knife. In all their multicoloured glory, they rise to greet the year. That’s just how it is, don’t look for a reason at all. I don’t want to hear, I don’t want to hear it at all. I don’t want to hear, I don’t want to hear it at all. Ah, there must a way, there must be reason for it all. But in the room where Clare is dying, no sunshine sends the shadows flying,
no children gather round her crying, there’s no one there at all,
except perhaps for the man who sees each little sparrow fall. Can’t you understand what I’m trying to say, there must an answer;
there must be a way to make some sense of it, to try to find a reason for it all. Lonely old people ain’t my concern, from dust we come,
to dust we return and that’s all there is, don’t look for a reason in it all. The raindrops on the tin roof beating, disturbing rats as they are feeding. Memories in chain recalling, footsteps on the front porch falling,
voices through the window calling, is anybody here
Clare Candle’s lost and lonely soul is a long, long way from here.