He walked the hills and byways
Around my old home town,
His old boots were stuffed with papers
And his coat was wood smoked brown
Some people said he’d been a teacher
Some said he’d always been a tramp
And I heard people say he’s stupid
The bugger must be mad
He lived on cigarettes and handouts
Had old cream cakes for tea
As I drove past him on my way to work
He seemed like a hero to me
He was free as a skylark
He had no chains to hold him down
The skyway was his palace
And his floor was God’s sweet ground
He looked like a soot streaked Father Christmas
As he walked down from his shack
With his ragged beard and mane of hair
And his sack upon his back
Once a year they’d cut his hair
And shave off all his beard
And nobody recognised him
He looked like a sheep that’s just been sheared
When the Moorland winter froze the land
I found him sheltering from the storm
And when I asked him what he wanted
He said ‘I’d like some smokes to keep me warm’
He was free as a skylark
He had no chains to hold him down
The skyway was his palace
And his floor was God’s sweet ground
Sometimes at night I’d see him standing
In the middle of the road
He was dazzled by the headlights
So I’d stop to let him go
But he never moved, just stood there
Like an ancient tree
It was like he’s part of something
That’s forever closed to me
When Colin died a light went out
It was like I’d lost a friend
Now when I drive down in to town
I still see him standing on the bend
They built a seat in Colin’s honour
Up by the Market Square
But it’s got old and it’s got rusty
As if nobody seems to care
He was free as a skylark
He had no chains to hold him down
Now the skyway is his palace
And he rests in God’s sweet ground
