There was a time when 45, I thought life had passed me by
I had spent too much time seeing the night train leave.
Through the rain, soaked train windows saw people reading
some looked into space and there were those who tried
not to cry. My friends had drifted away and my old mate
Trond had found God and to think we sat all night long
talking about books and in the morning we went out in his
boat fishing drinking cold beer and falling asleep as spring
the sun danced on the blue water in the fjord and wind from
the dark mountain didnít blow.
The best women too lost patience and took the tram home
to mum and dad waiting for you to grow up.
At 45, your parents begin dying the impossible happens and
you are a floating iceberg lost in a glass of whisky.
And just as wheels on suitcases are invented you grow up
polish you shoes and find that little cabin in a hidden valley
it has a leaking roof and has been waiting just for you.