The fishing boats go out
Across the evening water
Smuggling guns and arms
Across the Spanish border
The wind whips up
The waves so loud
The ghost moon sails
Among the clouds
Turns the rifles into
Silver on the border
Log on to hide ad.
On my wall, the colors
Of the maps are running
From Africa, the winds
They talk of changes coming
The torches flare up in the night
The hand that sets the farms alight
Has spread the word to those
Who're waiting on the border
In the village where I grew up
Nothing seems the same
Still you never see the
Change from day to day
No one notices
The customs slip away
Late last night the rain
Was knocking on my window
I moved across the darkened
Room and in the lampglow
I thought I saw down in the street
The spirit of the century
Telling us that we're
All standing on the border
In the islands where I grew up
Nothing seems the same
It's just the patterns that remain
An empty shell
But there's a strangeness in
The air you feel too well
The fishing boats go out
Across the evening water
Smuggling guns and arms
Across the Spanish border
The wind whips up
The waves so loud
The ghost moon sails
Among the clouds
Turns the rifles into
Silver on the border
On the border
On the border
On the border
