The old man on the promenade
With the sadness in his eye
Looked wistfully at the couples
As he strolled on slowly by.
In his time he'd been a love rat,
Left heartache wherever he went,
But just didn't understand
Didn't do it with malicious intent..
Always working on the premise
Of having the bird in the hand
Couldn't cope with real relationship.
He really didn't understand.
And he'd carried on this way
Over quite a few years
Always left behind him
A woman in floods of tears.
But as the years added up
His reputation went on before
And he didn't find it so easy
To find his victims any more.
And the waist line thickened
As the hair started to thin
And he had to be so careful
To hold his stomach in.
And more and more times
You would see him on his own
Just a little bit bemused
Not used to being alone,
Then suddenly he was old,
No partner or yet wife
Maybe rueing the paradox
Of his gay bachelor life.
And this old love rat was lonely,
Had been used to a bird in the hand,
But passing years hadn't added wisdom
And he still really didn't understand.
So he strolled on down the promenade
Having neither lover nor friend,
Returning to his lonely home
At each solitary day's end.
