A small boy waits in the darkening room,
Peering out in the gathering gloom.
A nose pressed up against the pane,
Staring out at the driving rain.
He's five years old, his father's gone,
Has he been bad? Done something wrong?
He doesn't like it on his own,
When is his daddy coming home?

And who will tuck me in tonight?
Rub my head, turn out the light?
If you listen to the wind outside
You just might hear...

Your Daddy cry.
You just might hear your Daddy cry.

Daddy's gone away from me,
Sailing out on the seven seas.
The whole world is his port of call,
His box of postcards says it all.
And on the radio, I could be wrong,
I thought they played his favourite song.
“Hold on son it won't be long...”
Where is that message coming from?

And who will tuck you in tonight?
Rub your head, turn out the light?
If you listen to the wind outside
You just might hear...

Your daddy cry,
You just might hear your Daddy cry.
Daddy cry,
You just might hear your Daddy cry.

And who will tuck me in tonight?
Rub my head, turn out the light?
If you listen to the wind outside
You just might hear...

Your Daddy cry,
You just might hear your Daddy cry.
Daddy cry,
You just might hear your Daddy cry.

Daddy cry,
You just might hear your Daddy cry.
Daddy cry,
You just might hear your Daddy cry.