There was a high pressure low
Developing off the coast of Africa,
Uplift in the atmosphere
Pushed waves across the ocean
Towards Antilles and Bonaire.
While I paced in agitation,
I drew the curtains closed,
I set the air conditioner low,
I pressed a warm wash cloth to my face,
Somewhere out there
A hurricane was coming…
[Chorus:]
There’s just no future
Left for us to dream of,
Living in an era of instability,
So caught up
In the culture of their rivals,
Fear breeds in honest men,
It’s a high pressure low!
It’s a high pressure low!
Seven missiles flying
Over the sea of Japan,
Tales of feral children
Sleeping in wolf dens,
And the pious preacher commands,
I hold my breath in anticipation,
Into the shelter of the jungle
Noble savages run,
Vestal virgins triumph
Over life-long inhibitions,
And I wonder, what is real?
What is fiction?
[Chorus]
Would anyone forgive Robert McNamara?
In retrospect he had to admit:
There was mistake
In going to war
Without first asking
All the questions.
Yes, Robert Strange McNamara,
There are those who just cannot forget,
And I wonder, and I wonder,
Have I lost my own compassion?
[Chorus]