From the recording Situation Out of Control


The last thing I rememberBefore they brought me inWas whispering through trembling lips"Take a message to my kin"After that the onlyRecollection I haveIs tracing with my fingertipsA faded photographI was out on the Black AtlanticClinging to the mast(Sails tattered on the mast)Praying on the windswept deckThat this ship is built to lastCalling, Crying, Shouting out your nameThey say that once you've been thereYou are never quite the sameMy nerves are shot to piecesI've been waiting here in vainA ghost got in the looking glassWho is that I see?A shock of recognitionThat poor lost soul is meSince that night out on the seaNo keepsakes do I haveJust the thought, the dream of youAnd a salt-stained photographNow I walk these paper streetsAnd all the buildings swayThe tides that shift beneath my feetAre going to carry me away