On The Border - Al Stewart

The fishing boats go out across the evening water

Smuggling guns and arms across the Spanish border

The wind whips up the waves so loud

The ghost moon sails among the clouds

Turns the rifles into silver on the border

On my wall the colours of the maps are running

From Africa the winds they talk of changes coming

The torches flare up in the night

The hand that sets the farms alight

Has spread the word to those who’re waiting on the border

In the village where I grew up

Nothing seems the same

Still you never see the change from day to day

And no-one notices the customs slip away

Late last night the rain was knocking at my window

I moved across the darkened room and in the lampglow

I thought I saw down in the street

The spirit of the century

Telling us that we’re all standing on the border