My Philosophy

Lyrics

Well she walked thru the streets Feeling part of the crowd Though she knew at night she'd sleep alone She used to say 'The universe will provide' But that's one hell of a space to call home And I still think of her on cold grey mornings When I'm drinking in the Royal Exchange Where old Irishmen who live in one room And dream of horses on the range [Chorus] It's your life You're making tracks But I can't be there If you change your mind And come on back - come on back Well I rubbеd my face as the day wore on I walkеd thru back streets to the Blackman Bar Thought about my dear old friend Noel How he bought me here to say goodbye That splendid man then left to die And I cut my hand on and old old story As I turned the page to see who'd died I saw the salt pouring into the wounds Of little boys who couldn't cry [Chorus] It's your life You're making tracks But I can't be there If you change your mind And come on back - come on back There's a shoreline where old men work hard They can't afford life's easy tears They work from memory with their hands Faces wet with routine fear And it's a long way to the ocean floor And the golden heart is sinking slow Trumpets sounding underwater Sound turns slowly in the salty flow [Chorus] It's your life You're making tracks But I can't be there If you change your mind And come on back - come on back I spent a month alone in the underground In Marylebone Station in London town Two policemen stopped and asked if I was ok I said 'I'm working on my philosophy' And in April-time when the bluebells come To country lanes that I have known I see children swimming in an English river In summer heat they splash and shout [Chorus] It's your life You're making tracks But I can't be there If you change your mind And come on back - come on back And I dedicate this song to the hours When the power of roses lived in me With the thorn and with the petal And with surrender to the honey bee {spoken word - Ron Sexsmith} 'The other guinea hen died of a broken heart, and we came to New York. I used to sit at a table, drawing wings with a pencil that kept breaking and I kept remembering how your mind looked when it slept for several years, to wake up asking why. So then you turned into a photograph of someone who's trying not to laugh at someone who'd trying not to cry'