there's a wink of seduction from the mainland.

Island in the city. Cut by a cold sea.
People moving on an ocean. Groundswell of humanity.
Storm-lashed on the high-rise --- their words are spray to the wind.
Blown like silent laughter. Falling on ears of tin.

Take my heart and take my brawn.
Take by stealth or take by storm ---
set my brain to cruise.
I can see the glow of the suburb lights.
I'm fresh from the out-world ---
singing the mainland blues.

There was a girl where I came from.
Seems a long time, long time gone by.
Wears the west wind in her hair.
She calls from the hill --- yeah, she calls
in my mainland blues.

There's a coast road that winds to heaven's door
where a fat ferry floats on muted diesel roar.
And there's a light on the hillside --- and there's a flame in her
eyes, but how cold the lights burn on the mainland.

Island in the city. Cut by a cold sea.
People moving on an ocean. Groundswell of humanity.
Storm-lashed on the high-rise --- their words are spray to the wind.
Blown like silent laughter. Falling on ears of tin
in my mainland blues.

"Undressed To Kill"

Working on the late shift --- first drink of the day.
Pull a chair up to the table, have to look the other way.
What kind of place am I in? And who's this over here?
Shaking through the silver bubbles climbing through my beer.
Won't let it move me, but I can't sit still.
Could you meet the eyes of a working girl
undressed to kill?

Staring through the smoke haze --- plaid shirts in the night.
Well, I'm making sure that everything is zipped up tight.
Who's that jumping on the table? Putting tonic in my gin?
Brushing silken dollars on her cold white skin.
Won't let it move me, but I can't sit still.
Could you meet the eyes of a working girl

undressed to kill?

She could have been sweet seventeen. There again, well, so could I.
There was a tear drop sparkle on the inside of her thigh.
Going to fetch myself a cold beer. I've got to get a grip.
Find some place to touch down. Find a landing strip.
Won't let it move me, but I can't sit still.
Can you meet the eyes of a working girl
all undressed to kill?

Last one out is a cold duck. Padding down the road.
I wait outside, my motor running --- got a warm dream to unload.
Can I face her in the sunshine? In he harsh real light of day?
She walks out with recognition in her eyes --- I look away.
Won't let it move me, but I can't sit still.
Couldn't meet the eyes of a working girl
undressed to kill.

"Rock Island"

Savage night on a misty island. Lights wink out in the
canyon walls.
Two old boys in a stolen racer. Black rubber contrails in
the unwashed halls.
And all roads out of here, seem to lead right back to the
Rock Island.

I've gone back to Paris, London, and even riding on a
jumbo to Bombay.
The long haul back holds faint attraction, but the people
here know they're o.k.
See the girl following the red balloon: walking all alone
on her Rock Island.

Doesn't everyone have their own Rock Island? Their own little
patch of sand?
Where the slow waves crawl and your angels fall and you find
you can hardly stand.
And just as you're drowning, well, the tide goes down.

And you're back on your Rock Island.

Hey there girlie with the torn dress, shaking: who was it
touched you? Who was it ruined your day?
Whose footprint calling card? And what they want, stepping
on your beach anyway?
I'll be your life raft out of here, but you'd only drift right
back to your Rock Island.

Hey, boy with the personal stereo: nothing `tween the ears
but that hard rock sound.
Playing to your empty room, empty guitar tune, No use waiting
for that C.B.S. to come around.
`Cos all roads out of here, seem to lead right back to your
Rock Island.

"Heavy Water"

I walked out in the city night,
A burning in my eyes, like it was broad daylight.
And it was hot, down there in the crowd.
The stars went out behind a thunder cloud.
Chatter in the air, like a telegraph line.
Big drops hissing on the neon sign.
Thumping in my heart, and it's hurting me to see.
Smokestack blowing, now they're pouring
heavy water on me.

She was a southern girl. We stared man to man.
I move like a stranger in this strange land.
She was a round hole, I was a square peg.
I watched the little black specks running down her leg.
Didn't seem to mind that dirty rain coming down ---
shirt hanging open. She was wet and brown.
Thumping in my heart, and it's hurting me to see.
Smokestack blowing, now they're pouring

heavy water on me.

What goes up has to fall back down.
It's no night to be out dancing in a party town
when it runs hot and it runs so wide ---
running in the street like a thin black tide.
Chatter in the air, like a telegraph line.
Big drops hissing on the neon sign.
Thumping in my heart, and it's hurting me to see.
Smokestack blowing, now they're pouring
heavy water on me.

"Another Christmas Song"

Hope everybody's ringing on their own bell, this fine morning.
Hope everyone's connected to that long distance phone.
Old man, he's a mountain.
Old man, he's an island.
Old man, he's a-walking says
``I'm going to call, call all my children home.''

Hope everybody's dancing to their own drum this fine morning ---
the beat of distant Africa or a Polish factory town.
Old man, he's calling for his supper.
Calling for his whisky.
Calling for his sons and daughters, yeah ---

calling all his children round.

Sharp ears are tuned in to the drones and chanters warming.
Mist blowing round some headland, somewhere in your memory.
Everyone is from somewhere ---
even if you've never been there.
So take a minute to remember the part of you
that might be the old man calling me.

How many wars you're fighting out there, this winter's morning?
Maybe it's always time for another Christmas song.
Old man he's asleep now.
Got appointments to keep now.
Dreaming of his sons and daughters, and proving ---
proving that the blood is strong.

"The Whaler's Dues"

Money speaks. Soft hearts lose. The truth only whispers.
It's the whaler's dues.

I've been running on diesel. Been running on coal.
Running on borrowed time, if truth's to be told.
Two whales in the ocean, cruising the night
search for each other before we turn out their light.

Been accused of deep murder on the North Atlantic swell
but I have three hungry children and a young wife as well.
And behind stand generations of hard hunting men
who raised a glass to the living, and went killing again.