The Tramps of Taro Sound
Sit and watch the wind
Running ships aground
They give no warning cries
But they charge no fare
So, I guess it's alright
Living off the spoils of the war
I sold my wife and children
For a trench along the shore
As the ships go down
No one talks about
The other side of town...
They're handing trophies out to all young things
Who can distract their country for the King
And keep the vultures occupied
Over in the reservoir
Another debutante
Is readied for his grand departure
The Elders of the Last Regime
Watch from the wings
And make sure that every exit's covered
Then they fill him with slaughterhouse gin
And forty counts of brine
In memory of the Wheezing Ulcers
As he sails into the sound
There are no holidays
On the other side of town...
After we've had our fun
And the spoils are long gone
Can't shake the phlegm of paranoia
The wind rails and screams
As we try to keep our ship
Together at the seams
But it soon disintegrates
And we see their throbbing eyes
Watching from the banks
They gave no warning cries
But they charged no fare -
So, I guess it's alright