| Lyrics: | There's a smokescreen on the horizon,
fireships under sail tonight....
Here's the
Armada of Souls,
here's the flotilla from God knows where:
from gopher-wood to the last of
the ironclads
in common concert they send up the flares.
While we turn and turn
around
the rocket hits the roof...
we never think that we'll get burned,
we're
fireproof,
we think we're fireproof.
Keep a stiff upper lip,
the band play
on
through the raising of the toast;
the captain's steady
at the attention on the
bridge
it's surface matters
that appear to matter most.
We watch the galleons run
aground,
still we stand aloof;
we never think that we'll get burned,
we think we're
fireproof.
We think we're fireproof,
we never think that we'll get burnaed;
We
sail on fireships,
we never think, so we'll get burned.
Straight for the eye of the
hurricane,
down to the last eye tooth
we never think that we'll get burned,
we think
we're fireproof.
Here's the Armada of light,
here's the flotilla, for heaven's
sake....
We're sailing under a flag of convenience,
casting our messages in bottles in our
wake
So we turn and turn around
the rocket hits the roof...
we never think that we'll
get burned,
we think we're fireproof.
We never think that we'll get burned,
we
think we're fireproof.
(PH - Guitars, Keyboards, Bass, Percussion, Vox;
Stuart
Gordon - Violin;
David Jackson - Alto Sax |
