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