It's a good day for going to sea Hanno the Navigator said to me. There's an open sky and a steady breeze out beyond the Pillars of Hercules. Above the
There is an independent book store the last one that remained all the othres you might look for have been eaten by the chains the soldier on on one cleans
When I get even more old than I am now I'll have a house overlooking the water I'll read all the books that I never got 'round to Pile my suitcases up
Oh, come away from the day, here I stay Living on the bottom of the sea Down metal snake, corridors, steely gray Engines hum for nobody but me No sound
?Oh I come from Pittsburgh to study astrology? She said as she stepped on my instep ?I could show you New York with a walk between Fourth Street and Nine
Anna turns out the light Sits down alone The echo of his foot on the stair Turning to stone No, he didn't take very much Just your flesh from the bone
Go and tell Lord Grenville that the tide is on the turn It's time to haul the anchor up and leave the land astern We'll be gone before the dawn returns
I got a letter; it came in the mail today I saw by the stamp it was written an ocean away No need to open it, I know what it must say I?ll just go back
Hello old friend, what a strange coincidence to find you It's been fifteen years since we last met but I still recognized you So call the barman over
With your photographs of Kitty Hawk And the bi-planes on your wall YOu were always Amy Johnson From the time that you were small. No schoolroom kept
You got your ticket and your hotel keys And your overnight bag at your feet You're looking down on the tropical trees While the Spanish maids pick up
Torn between the Gypsy and the Rose I was led on I suppose For the Gypsy was always out of reach I crossed her palm with silver just to know What the
In the east the wind is blowing The boats across the sea And their sails will fill the morning And their cries ring out to me Oh, oh, oh, the more it
With your photographs of Kitty Hawk And the biplanes on your wall You were always Amy Johnson From the time that you were small No schoolroom kept you
It seems to me as though I've been upon this stage before And juggled away the night for the same old crowd These harlequins you see with me, they too
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
It's the kind of gray November day that washes Away reflections in the eyes of hotel porters And the latticed wooden benches by the sea Contain no travelers
Born in England's pleasant green, like a picture postcard scene To childhood spread with fond maternal care From the day that he was born, proud relations