He smiled and rubbed the stubble on his chin
He sure shall find the weariness and dreariness of life that's growing thin
Yet he didn't have so very far to go
With a pencil in his hand he will travel on as planned
With a mere step in the mountain to a light
Craise Finton Kirk, see him go, on his way
Oh they don't know where he is
Very very nice, very very nice
Even in the morning when he slept
Something odd is missing
There's nothing very much to talk about
And nothing very much to see
Craise Finton Kirk, see him go, on his way
Oh they don't know where he is
Very very nice, very very nice
Talks about the place he'd like to go
And you never see the worrying and hurrying and that makes a person slow
Yet you wouldn't think eh'd be so hard to find
Yet he looks so very busy but there's nothing on his mind
And his wavy hair continues not to grow
Craise Finton Kirk, see him go, on his way
Oh they don't know where he is
Very very nice, very very nice
Craise Finton Kirk, see him go, on his way
Oh they don't know where he is
Very very nice, very very nice
Writer(s): Barry Alan Gibb, Robin Hugh Gibb
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