African drums are silent and the Wingos
|
are poets at last
|
Out on Dafuskie Island, the bulldozers
|
bury the past
|
And the low country sinks, she cannot swim
|
the dogwood feels the hurt
|
While the foursome plays on borrowed days in
|
their alligator shirts
|
|
Now I realize who killed the Prince of Tides
|
How can you tell how it used to be
|
When there's nothing left to see
|
|
One night they put a price on the sunset and that
|
got the whole earth shakin'
|
Those rose from the grave both the weak and the brave
|
'cause history was there for the makin'
|
And the winos surrounded the condos forming
|
a frail human fence
|
And they shouted out loud to the roar of the crowd
|
"Same old story, more dollars than sense"
|
|
Now I realize who killed the Prince of Tides
|
How can you tell how it used to be
|
When there's nothing left to see
|
Paperback novels make young girls dream and
|
Judy's spending quieter days in the stream
|
With Giovinno, Goodman, Phil and Mac D, they were
|
such good friends to me
|
|
Now I realize who killed the Prince of Tides
|
How can you tell how it used to be
|
When there's nothing left to see
|
|
Heaven knows but God decides
|
When to kill the Prince of Tides
|
How can you tell how it used to be
|
When there's nothing left to see
|
|
Nothing left to see
|
And beach music beach music beach music
|
just plays on
|
|
-----------------
|
Prince Of Tides
|
Jimmy Buffett |