After many a year, far away he did near.
The home of his prodigal birth.
Though when he just a lad, went off to the bad.
For adventure, cheap whisky and mirth.
He travelled the land, from the hills to the sand.
In search of the meaning of all.
It took twenty one years, to expel all his fears.
To return to his family's great hall.
Now this prodigal son, at the gates feared to run.
Heart a pound with the "fear of ahead".
He passed through the great door, then fell to the floor.
With the news that his father lay dead.
His mother now old, life's story she told.
Of the years that this son was away.
And he vowed there and then, not to leave her again.
But to stay till her soon dying day.
She said that her will, left all to him still.
Even though she knew not if he'd died.
As he cradled her hand, told of the hills and the sand.
Of his journeys with the wind as his guide.
He told tale upon tale, of tall ships in a gale.
Of strange beasts he had passed on his way.
And above all he'd found, was that shillings and pounds.
That all wealth was mans evil decay.
So with his mothers depart, this home had no heart.
He gave all of his wealth to mankind.
And set off on his tracks, with his needs on his back.
Far flung left this mad world far behind.
