© 1987 Dave Goulder, Robbins Music
Dave says "when I was living in Wester Ross (Scotland), Tom was an illusive character, a tramp, who did off work here and there. You'd never get a good look at him; he'd flit between buildings at dawn and dusk. A lot of us identify with people like that, perhaps even envy them, but ultimately it must have been a bleak life."
Gordon adds "Dave will be glad to know I finally got the tune right."
Gordon- 12-string guitar
When the calendar brings in the cuckoo
And the summer comes following on
Then the thin mists of day see him running away
And they know him as Faraway Tom.
The earth is his bed and his pillow
And his sheets are the clothes he has on
He sleeps all afternoon then he's hunting the moon
Till it rises for Faraway Tom.
He sees the fox leaving his follow
And he knows where the badger has gone
He watches the fawn in the sheltering thorn
But they don't see Faraway Tom.
He knows nothing of letters and learning
And of manners and such he has none
But he numbers the seasons on fingers and toes
As they pass over Faraway Tom.
But what of the winters to follow;
Will age and cold winds bring him down?
For where can he lie when the snow fills the sky
And the years tell on Faraway Tom?