Low Countries - City Of Ships

If this looks like average turnpike trash

I might as well be dead

What was going through your head?

On that golden afternoon

Tainted only by leaking petrol fumes

Got so high it filled our lungs

Eventually managed to collapse one

A starry night I’ll always remember

Drinking deep the irony

Of devout men crafting the devil’s elixir

Another golden afternoon

Watched the clouds go by

From our north sea view

Breathed the salt air

Repaired our lungs

Showed around by the enemies of the sun

A starry night I can’t quite remember

Looks like average turnpike trash

I couldn’t disagree more

Never met anyone in Newark

Who speaks in five tongues

No relics of the ancient world

To be found off exit one

For all the miles you’ve traveled

For all the warmth you’ve shared

This simple thanks we offer

I wish we had more to give