Cloudy and rainy, cold and grim, but
we're on land with a booklet in our hand.
Most of us disdain these little red books
with a photo encased within.How cold, grim
Must it be for those cast away on a battered ship
Give us your money give us your life we'll get you
over there to Europe. Then in the dead of night
when the moaning cries of men women children
can be plainly heard we abandon them to their plight.
Money, money, that's what's they forfeit we only leave
a sinking ship of 500 souls we have our little passport
book they, meaning the innocents left to die.
No justice, no humanity only camps for the dispossessed
Of course Davy Jones can give them a home one that is
cold grim and wet, but remember you have a book of colour
with photo stamped resident. No cries Of succour need you hear
encased in a home were you belong. So simple, so abstract to
think of the plight of hundreds abandoned on the high seas all
because of greed, war is all the smugglers need -overlords supply it