So there it is

The bike is running again
after nearly a year
But I didn’t clean the flat
Maybe tomorrow
or tonight
And now
My daughter and son
step lightly between heaven and hell
And my mother went to church
after all
My hands are sore and cracked
My nails are black with oil
The kettle’s back on
And now
I’ve been working this magic
for thirty-odd years
The woman upstairs howls
at the dustmen who never came
So I finger-pick a nice piece
that fits my mood
And now you’re going away
It's nine years I've had that bike
Should use it
I’ll miss you
Strap a tent on the back and go
Two years on
I’m still in the States
writing it up
Walking the streets of their dreams
So many things will be different
The run was good
Been doing it since I was young
Delivering milk
And nothing’s done me much harm
so far
But now I wonder
Fifteen years
Will it ever be the same?