John Raymond Pollard

Lyrics

Isle coast plays host to rough seas --
Post card with waves carved by Praxiteles,
And we in our overcoats are starting to freeze.
Who’d give a hoot about our memories?

Isle coast a light, tropic breeze
Tugs at the palm fronds and the broad faced leaves
And we in our overcoats sip steeping hot tea…
Let’s head for that isle in the sun.

South Pacific offers kava kava, drink fit for a king.
Here at home we sit and sip our java, roasted bean caffeine.
They say that beetle nuts give such a buzz, but they stain your teeth…
inflow, outflow of energy…

West coast, high-tech wizardry--
Chips hit Manhattan, action on Wall Street,
And caught in an overload we feel the squeeze
Between our careers and home.

Gulf coast, it’s oil energy.
Crude or refined and blinding with smoke screens,
And as the pollution grows, we cling to the dream
Of our shining isle in the sun.

Hare, Krishna, Hare, Hare, Rama; nothing’s what it seems.
Out in exile like the Dali Lama life is but a dream.
In a fleeting laser beam of truth everything I see
Is inflow, outflow of energy.

Isle coast plays host to rough seas --
Post card with waves carved by Praxiteles,
And we in our overcoats are starting to freeze.
Let’s head for that isle in the sun.