Eric Bogle – A Reason For It All Lyrics

Don’t talk to me about life’s seasons, don’t ask me for answers,
don’t ask me for reasons. 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 in it all. Ah, there must a way, there must be reason for it all. In all their multicoloured glory, they rise to greet the year. Back to the nest they all go creeping, leaving Clare alone again. But in the room where Clare is dying, no sunshine sends the shadows flying,
no children gather round her crying, there’s no one there at all,
except perhaps for the man who sees each little sparrow fall. That’s just how it is, don’t look for a reason at all. We are not born just so we can die, there must be an answer and
we’ve got to try to make some sense of it; to try to find a reason for it all. Winter weeping on the city, a wet and windy day in Sydney,
rain drops rolling fat and heavy down Clare’s window pane. That’s just how it is, don’t look for a reason at all. I don’t want to hear, I don’t want to hear it at all. It’s been a long and lonely time since Clare could hear the rain. Memories in chain recalling, footsteps on the front porch falling,
voices through the window calling, is anybody here
Clare Candle’s lost and lonely soul is a long, long way from here. I don’t want to hear, I don’t want to hear it at all. Don’t talk to me about lonely souls crying, dark quiet rooms with old people dying. That’s just how it is, don’t look for a reason at all. Tired old people die alone every day, don’t blame me, I didn’t make it that way. Summer’s smiling on the city, it’s another lovely day in Sydney, sunshine pouring down like honey. From the moment we’re born, we start to die; a man can go crazy if he keeps asking why. We are not born just so we can die, there must be an answer and
we’ve got to 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, there must an answer;
there must be a way to make some sense of it, to try to find a reason for it all. Don’t talk to me about the meaning of life; don’t sing your songs that cut like a knife. Spring has come at last to Sydney; flowers are blooming in the city. I don’t want to hear, I don’t want to hear it at all. Can’t you understand what I’m trying to say, there must an answer;
there must be a way to make some sense of it, to try to find a reason for it all. The raindrops on the tin roof beating, disturbing rats as they are feeding.