Exiles - David Cross, John Wetton

Now in this faraway land

Strange that the palms of my hands

Should be damp with expectancy

Spring, and the air’s turning mild

City lights and the glimpse of a child

Of the alleyway infantry

Friends — do they know what I mean?

Rain and the gathering green

Of an afternoon out of town

But Lord I had to go

The trail was laid too slow behind me

To face the call of fame

Or make a drunkard’s name for me

Though now this better life

Has brought a different understanding

And through these endless days

Shall come a broader sympathy

And though I count the hours

To be alone’s no injury

My home was a place by the sand

Cliffs and a military band

Blew an air of normality