The fishing boats go out across the evening water 
Smuggling guns and arms across the Spanish border 
The wind whips up the waves so loud 
The ghost moon sails among the clouds 
Turns the rifles into silver on the border 

On my wall the colours of the maps are running 
From Africa the winds they talk of changes coming 
The torches flare up in the night 
The hand that sets the farms alight 
Has spread the word to those who're waiting on the border 

In the village where I grew up 
Nothing seems the same 
Still you never see the change from day to day 
And no-one notices the customs slip away 

Late last night the rain was knocking at my window 
I moved across the darkened room and in the lampglow 
I thought I saw down in the street 
The spirit of the century 
Telling us that we're all standing on the border 

In the islands where I grew up 
Nothing seems the same 
It's just the patterns that remain 
An empty shell 
But there's a strangeness in the air you feel too well 

The fishing boats go out across the evening water 
Smuggling guns and arms across the Spanish border 
The wind whips up the waves so loud 
The ghost moon sails among the clouds 
Turns the rifles into silver on the border
On the border 
On the border 
On the border