The wind was whipping shingle through the windows in the town A hail of stones across the roof, the slates came raining down A blade of light upon the spit came sweeping through the roar With me head inise a barrel and me leg screwed in the floor Mother pack me bags because I'm off to foreign parts Don't ask me where I'm going 'cause I'm sure it's off the charts I'll pin your likeness on the wall right buy my sleeping head I'll send you cards and letters so you'll know that I'm not dead By this time in a week I should be far away from home Trailing fingers through the phospor or asleep in flowers of foam >From Macao to Acapulco from Havana to Seville We'll see monoliths and bridges and the Christ up on the hill An aria with the Russians at the piano in the bar With icefloes through the window we raised glasses to the Czar We squared off on a dockside with a coupled hundred Finns And we dallied in the 'dilly and we stoaked ourselves in gin CHORUS Now the only deck I'd want to walk Are the stalks of corn beneath my feet And the only sea I want to sail Is the darkned pond in the scented dusk Where a kid crouced full of sadness Lets his boat go drifting out Into the evening sun We sailed through constellations and were rutted by the storm I crumpled under cudgel blows and finally came ashore