FOG ON THE DOGGER Well she turns past the Spurn, and she heads for the Hook Lit up like a Christmas tree gin palace, look in the cocktail bar windows, there's Kurt in full cry with his midi-modified Bechstien and his dickie bow tie And he gives them the old ones, never looses the thread "Annies Song" and "Vincent" and "The Lady in Red" And the more that he drinks - oh, the better he plays So he signs for dutch courage, as the ferry boat sways
But there's fog on the Dogger, his own brand of hell An eerie white nothing on an oily black swell Though his fingers go laughing high over the keys All he hears are the seabirds, and all that he sees is the fog on the Dogger - Fog on the Dogger
Well he keeps it eclectic, they're all in tonight Students and tourists and suits getting tight Just the odd risqué word change, (well who wouldn't get bored) And the few who are listening politely applaud But when the gin kicks in, and caution has flown With an apologetic introduction - a song of his own About loving and losing and drinking too much And, like the red-light bound lonely hearts, going Dutch
And the very next evening, it's the same thing again Only Cromer's to port, now - lights like a train And a new set of faces all killing their time With bottles of Breda and cheap Belgian wine It'll be the same thing tomorrow - tomorrows have flown Eastbound and and westbound, just never at home Crossing, recrossing, where the herring once teemed And trying to remember some dream he'd once dreamed Recorded on Mixed Moss with help from Dave Bowie on double bass | ||