On the Border

(I really can’t even fake this anymore — I only knew it briefly for a period in the early 80’s. But the lyrics are cool, evocative.)

by Al Stewart

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 my wall the colours 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
And no-one notices the customs slip away

Late last night the rain was knocking at 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