Somewhere in this sea of Club Milks Tea and ashtrays There is a song Im in the crows nest with binoculars Just waiting for one to come along Ive seen the flare so I know its there It has me tied up at a rate of knots No navigation, global position Just me and this midnight oil So take me to your king I hear hes the man to see And I will cross his palm My first born for a song Somewhere in this froth And howling wind Theres something worth singing Climb into the attic to write me a classic But its not happening Its just Christmas up here Between the phone calls And text messages The air must be thick with words But not between us Shoulder to grindstone Switching to manual Keep the head down And Ill see you at the end So take me to your king I hear hes the man to see And I will cross his palm My first born for a song
palm, song, froth, grindstone, binoculars