It's each to his own and the early bird's flown,
the worm makes his own way home.

I made a face and my excuses left the room,
It's a quick way of changing tack when the wind swings round and meets you going coming back.

On a tiny spit of lunacy when the tide rides in and over me
she's the one who holds my hand and comforts me.

I see that nothing's really real and really that's a big, big deal, I could say it's confirmed the case for every moment in my life I pulled a face and every face I've ever pulled has left a little ache in me as if the world inside's forgotten and forsaken me.

It hurts and then the pain eases or sometimes disappears away.

Each to his own
and
my look at how he's grown, says Thomas who's quite tall and very stern,
I don't think he's a tank engine, though,
that would be strange.