Breakfast In Boston
(c) Jon Horne 2008

They lock all the doors when the night shift comes in
To keep us from running, but where would we go?
We're nine feet below, or that's what they tell us
Under sea level, that's all that we know

We're already drinking, and thinking of home
When the lock-up man comes, and unbolts the door
We all say, 'one for all', and we'll take it no more
But we all smell of fear, and we're nine feet below

You learn to be quiet when you're ten to a room
You rise with the moon; the morning's so cold
Your clothes are all stolen and none of them fits you
What's wrong with this picture? You're nine feet below

It's breakfast in Boston at the Three Lions cafe
Cold English eyes are staring our way
We still have our pride, we don't look away
Don't look away, don't look away
 
Then onto the flatbed and back to the fields
Shoulder the wheel all night and all day
You don't see your pay, it goes straight to the masters
But it doesn't matter, you're nine feet below

I keep seeing faces that I knew from before
When I ran from the law on all sides of the border
Now I'm taking orders and counting the change
Here comes the rain, and we're nine feet below

Then it's breakfast in Boston at the Three Lions cafe
Cold English eyes are staring our way
We still have our pride, we don't look away
Don't look away, don't look away