Napoli
(c) Jon Horne 2007

The last breath of a hurricane
Howls across the ocean
And the men are busy praying
Because they can't hear the engines

They're saying, we don't have a hope
Of rounding Portland Bill
It's not worth a sailor's life
It's just money in the till

There's whispers on every front porch
As midnight comes around
Fathers and their eldest sons
Try to leave without a sound

But the whole town is on the move
By the dark of this new moon
They scale the cliffs, no time to lose
Another storm is coming soon

They dream like Devon men of old
Of treasure without title
They comb the beach in search of gold
Or German motorcycles

The finest of Italian wine
It's a pleasure to relate
This year I'll give my Valentine
A diamond from the Cape

Her Majesty's Receiver
With the sheriff by her side
Can't believe it when they see
What's washed up on the tide

With riot shields and flashing lights
Be off with you, they yell
But when they knock off work tonight
they'll be down here themselves

You can call us scavengers
And you can call it greed
Let's raise a toast to the deadly storm
That sank the good ship Napoli

(23.1.07)