The exile's line Songtext

and the grimed stoker feeds the engine-fires



the tragedy of all our east is laid

on those white decks beneath the awening shade

birth, absence, longing, laughter, love and tears

birth, absence, longing, laughter, love and tears

and death unmaking ere the land is made

and death unmaking ere the land is made



and midnight madnesses of souls distraught
who the cool seas call through the open port

so that the table lacks one place next morn

so that the table lacks one place next morn

and for one forenoon men forgo their sport

and for one forenoon men forgo their sport



but we the gipsies of the east, but we

waifs of the land and wastrels of the sea

come nearer home beneath the quartered flag

come nearer home beneath the quartered flag

than ever home shall come to such as we

than ever home shall come to such as we