My First Born for a Song

Somewhere in this sea of

Club Milks

Tea and ashtrays

There is a song

I'm in the crow's nest with binoculars

Just waiting for one to come along

I've seen the flare so

I know it's 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 he's the man to see

And I will cross his palm

My first born for a song

Somewhere in this froth

And howling wind

There's something worth singing

Climb into the attic to write me a classic

But it's not happening

It's 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 I'll see you at the end

So take me to your king

I hear he's the man to see

And I will cross his palm