This town, this stain on the sunrise
Disguised in the mist this morning
It's 8 a.m., a seagull shouts a sailor's warning
This sky, this bend in the river
Slows down and delivers me, the tide rolls black
And all my memories fade to black

And yet, and yet I'm back

This town has a strange magnetic pull
Like homing signal in your skull
And you sail by the stars of the hemisphere
Wondering how in the hell did you end up here?
It's like an underground river, or hidden stream
That flows through your head, and haunts your dreams
And you stuffed those dreams in this canvas sack
And there's nothing round here that the world lacks

And yet, and yet you're back

Some nights I'd lie on the deck, and I'd stare at the turning of the stars
Those constellations hanging up there from the cables and the rigging
I'd wonder if she saw the same, or managed to recall my name
Why would she ever think of me?
Some boy she loved who fled to sea?
And why waste time debating whether she'd be waiting for the likes of me?

So yet drift into port with the scum of the seas
To the dance halls and the brothels where you took your ease
And the ship's left the dock, but you're half past caring
And you haven't got a clue whose bed you're sharing
And your head's like a hammer on a bulkhead door
And it feels like somebody might have broken your jaw
And there's bloodstains and glass all over the floor
And you swear to God ye'll drink no more

And yet, and yet

In truth, it's too late to find her
Too late to remind her at some garden gate
Where a servant tells me I should wait
And perhaps a door's slammed in my face
My head must be in outer space

And yet, and yet
Before the sun has set
Before the sea
There may be something else that's waiting for the likes of me

This town, this stain on the sunrise