Summer smilin' on the city, another lovely day in Sydney, sunshine pourin' down like honey in a golden waterfall. But in the room where Clare is dyin' no sunshine sends the shadows flyin', no children gather 'round her cryin': there's no one there at all, except, perhaps, for the one who sees each little sparrow fall.
Don't talk to me 'bout lonely souls cryin', dark, quiet rooms, and old people dyin': I don't wanna hear, don't wanna hear it at all. Lonely old people die alone every day, don't blame me, I didn't make it that way, that's just how it is, don't look for a reason for it all.
Winter weepin' on the city, a wet and windy day in Sydney, raindrops rollin', fat and heavy, down Clare's window pane. The raindrops on the tin roof beatin' disturb the rats as they are feedin': back to their nest they all go creepin', leavin' Clare alone again. It's been a long and lonely time since Clare could hear the rain.
Don't talk to me about the meaning of life, don't sing your songs that cut like a knife: I don't wanna hear, don't wanna hear it at 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 for it all.
Springtime's come at last to Sydney, the flowers are bloomin' in the city, in all their multi-coloured glory, they rise to greet the year. Memories in shame recallin', footsteps on the front porch fallin', voices through the window callin': «Is anybody there?» Clare Campbell's lost and lonely soul is a long, long way from here.
Don't talk to me 'bout life seasons, don't ask me for answers, don't ask me for reasons: I don't wanna hear, don't wanna hear it at all. Lonely old people die alone every day, don't blame me, I didn't make it that way, that's just how it is, don't look for a reason for it all.
Can't you understand what I'm trying to say? There must be an answer, there must be a way to make some sense of it, to try to find a reason for it all.
We are not born just so we can die, there must be an answer, and we've gotta try to make some sense of it, to try to find a reason for it all.
Can't you understand what I'm trying to say?
Don't talk to me 'bout life's seasons, There must be an answer, there must be a way
don't ask me for answers, don't ask me for reasons: to make some sense of it,
I don't wanna hear, to try to find a reason for it all.
don't wanna hear it at all.
We are not born just so we can die,
From the moment we're born, we start to die, there must be an answer, and we've gotta try
a man can go crazy if he keeps asking why; to make some sense of it,
that's just how it is, to try to find a reason for it all.
don't look for a reason for it all.
That's just how it is, don't look for a reason for it all. Ah, there must be a way, there must be a reason for it all.
1. Eric Bogle's commentary: «In an effort to retrieve my… reputation, here's a more serious song. I wrote this song when I lived in Sydney, in the… late 70s I think it was, or mid 70s, and… I read a story about an old lady called Clare Campbell who was found dead in a small cottage she lived in in a place called Erskineville in Sydney, and Clare was her real name, Clare Campbell, that was her real name. And when they found Clare, they reckoned she'd been dead for about a year, she had lived in this cottage for a year without anyone caring too much about what had happened to her. And she had family in the town, I mean, the newspapers reported that she had a son and daughter resident in Sydney. So, there must have been a family schism - I'm quite familiar with them - and, whatever the cause, this poor lady lay in a cottage for a year without anyone bothering to find out what had happened to her. And it's a common story in big cities, it happens all the time. So, I wrote this song for John and I to sing, way back then, and all I was gonna do was a question and response song and this is basically what this one is.» *** See also hereTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
