I'm on a B road heading for the sea
To see if hands across the ocean'll shake or wave
Through the whiplash of the windscreen wipers
I can see for miles but all I do is watch the time
At the driver's hands
He harbours thoughts on personal grief
I said "Your hardship's only one of a fleet that didn't go down well."
Listen son, if you'd spent your life in the last lane
You'd have an accent to grind
Punch-drunk on patriotism
Blind-drunk on borderism
Maybe I should drive
While you're cast away the mice'll play
They'll have a license to dog those left back home
Yeah, and what about those poor souls?
Listen son, if you'd spent your life in the last lane
You'd have an accent to grind
Punch-drunk on patriotism
Blind-drunk on borderism
Maybe I should drive
As I jumped to these conclusions
He thumped his feet on the brakes
But we still hit a songwriter trudging through the rain
Scrambled out and watched him rest in pieces
Said a prayer and rifled through his pocket
And the side of his mouth still had something to say
"At the toss of a coin
I end up head in the dirt and tail in the air
And yet you can dance away
But be it friend or hard-up man
Fellow or kin
When your chips are down, they're down for good."