Life's like that, isn't it?

The boy is holding his mother's hand In a seaside station The streets are silent in the rain Naked and dead in their small town pain When the train pulls in, a man alights Lugging a suitcase, battered but bright With labels from the argentines He pulls down his hat, flexes his knees Swaggers up the platform, bogart on ice Winks at the boy, kisses his wife For a moment they're lost in their ardor The boy is suddenly jealous of his father. The young couple walks hand in hand up the town The boy just keeps his head down Past the furniture store Owned by a comrade from the spanish civil war Looks in the window, to his surprise An apparition in maple catches his eye A loyalist guitar from the siege of madrid He presses his nose up to the windowsill His father says, 'como estas, senor? The boy is entranced by your guitar Here's a couple of quid down You'll get the rest next saturday Life's like that, isn't it?' Back in the house his parents disappear To the bedroom they go, but all the boy can hear Are the strings echoing off the maple, His father shouts out, 'hey son, soon you'll be able To play me a tango, knock spots off the sound' Then he grabs his wife, twirls her around. The boy watches in wonder as the couple cavort Outside the rain and thunder drown out The chill of the devotional bell While inside their small kitchen the father and mother Are sublimely going to hell. The boy is religious, serves mass at the friary He's got a crush on st. anthony Got a hot date with him when he gets to heaven, But it's still hard to get up at twenty to seven On a gale force morning, slates hitting the streets Exploding in smithereens all around him. He runs in fear past the deserted garden where a man hung himself His soul ever after sentenced to roam in search of salvation But that morning his father leaves from the station Six months on the banana run down to west africa It's up to him now he's got to look after His tango-less, bogarted broken-hearted mother, 'later for you, dad, it was nice while it lasted but Life's like that, isn't it?' The boy plays guitar, reads voraciously About s** and revolution in the county library And in bed he tunes in radio sofia Gets it on with the sister comrade from bulgaria The librarian is worried she visits his mother 'all he wants is james connolly and patrice lumumba.' The friars don't know what to do with this communist 'if he don't look out he'll end up poor as st. francis Them auld books is drivin' the poor chap crazy, It's time he got a job, he's far too lazy, Go out into the real world, meet a nice girl.' He meets the girl but she is not so nice She wears micro dresses has stormy black eyes He no longer has time for the county library Learning about life in the back of a mini Her dress is so soft but its nothing compared to Her silky white thighs, oh how he'd like to Go much further so they run off to dublin He's drinking too much getting in trouble With mao's little red book, he's ready for action But black eyes wants a house not satisfaction In terenure, but he's heard bernadette devlin So it's - take to the streets - rock & roll revolution! Black eyes is gone on the boat to london And connolly youth is explodin' So he hops a plane to new york He's down on the deuce hustling work And recreation when she rings him, In a richmond accent, 'my only darling, It would never work out, here is the reason: I've fallen head over heels for an english policeman.' So he plays the tango, remembers his father Resolves to live life like bogart Turn pain to music, sorrow to laughter Live for today, to hell with tomorrow It started at the station waiting for his father, One moment affects everything thereafter, but Life's like that, isn't it?