Old Tom

Old Tom Old Tom watched the river flow Staring at the pool below A ragged, scarecrow silhouette The kind of man you'd not forget Every inch the pauper king He tied his coat with a piece of string Lived his life from day to day He got by in his own way Why he lived the life he led we never asked and he never said We never knew the rhyme or the reason And just where he came from no one knows, no one cared much I suppose Just another lonely soul left with nowhere else to go He owned a fine old violin The music came from deep within He never had that much to say He said it all in the tunes he'd play He never stood upon no stage He played those tunes for a beggars' wage Did it all without regret For a bottle of beer or a cigarette Seems like he was born to wander free, it must have been his destiny To roam each winding highway and bye way Music filled his universe, both a blessing and a curse Held him from the day he fell under its enchanting spell He lived out on the edge of town Where darkness fell when the sun went down He lay his head on a bed of straw Beneath the stars on the forest floor There he lay alone each night Out of mind and out of sight Reflected in the campfire glow He took his fiddle and he raised the bow You'd look at him and time stood still He must have been old as the hills Like some picture in a frame He never changed, he stayed the same He played the part in the clothes he wore What you got was what you saw Solitary, destitute There for all to persecute Would you look at him, he'd hear them say What's he doing here anyway They made him pay the price for being different And like children playing children's games Laughed at him and called him names Who were they to criticise the way that such men lived their lives Old Tom watched the river flow Staring at the pool below A ragged scarecrow silhouette The kind of man you'd not forget