Red Socks

I do recall when I was only five years old
I had a pair of red socks that I valued
And I remember when we travelled as a family
To the coast for a Sunday at West Wittering
I watched my father take the football socks I cherished
Tying them to a kite, they hovered up above
But when they escaped to the waves out in the ocean
By brothers and by father I was taunted
It may seem strange, but I was heavily effected
And wanted to return back to West Wittering
Though no one really took the blindest bit of notice
Still there I stood and stared into the distance
And if they ever thought to ask what I was doing
Then I’d reply that there was something that was missing
And to this day I do believe they’ve been recovered
But wonder whereabouts along the coastline
Sometimes it’s difficult to say goodbye
Sometimes it’s difficult to say goodbye
One afternoon you had informed me you’d be over
So we could spend a day to be remembered
But when you didn’t come, I felt so much alone
And my mind went back to a Sunday in West Wittering
There as a man I stood and stared into the distance
Fighting my tears, it seemed that something here was missing
If I could phone you, then I’d tell you how I first learnt
At five years old, that my heart it could be broken
At five years old
That my heart it could be broken
At five years old
That my heart it could be broken