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Here I sleep the morning through |
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'Til the wail of the call to prayer awakes me |
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And there ain't nothing at all to do but rise and follow |
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The day wherever it takes me |
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I stand at the window and I look at the sea |
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And I am what I am, and what will be will be |
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I stand at the window and I look at the sea |
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And I make me a pot of opium tea |
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Down at the port I watch the boats come in |
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Watch the boats come in can do something to you |
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And the kids gather around with an outstretched hand |
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And I toss them a diram or two |
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Well, I wonder if my children are thinking of me |
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Cause I am what I am, and what will be will be |
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I wonder if my kids are thinking of me |
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And I smile and I sip my opium tea |
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At night the sea lashes the rust red ramparts |
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And the shapes of hooded men who pass me |
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And the moan of the wind laughs and laughs and laughs |
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The strange luck that fate has cast me |
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Well, the cats on the rampart sing merrily |
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That he is what he is and what will be will be |
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Yeah, the cats on the rampart sing merrily |
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And I sit and I drink of my opium tea |
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I'm a prisoner here, I can never go home |
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There is nothing here to win or lose |
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There are no choices needed to be made at all |
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Not even the choice of having to choose |
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Well, I'm a prisoner here, yes, but I'm also free |
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Cause I am what I am and what will be will be |
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I'm a prisoner here, yeah, but I'm also free |
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And I smile and I sip my opium tea. |
