He carried me in his arms,

Lifted me to the sky,

And my childish laughter,

a happy star in his sky.

Where has the love gone ?

As the son turns old,

And the father older.

The yellow and red lorry,

The little red cycle,

Where has it all gone ?

The cracks become clearer,

And the sky cloudy;

The son becomes better than the father,

And the father is a memory,

Of more wrongs than right.