Monterey Pines
I’m walking through a landscape that is sodden by the rain,
Skirting ‘round the puddles on this flooded, muddy lane,
All colour has been leached out, there are forty shades of grey
And there’s a string of Monterey Pines
Black against the sky,
Black against the sky,
Black against a grey sky.
My collar, it is turned up, my cap pulled down so low,
I don’t know what I’m doing here, don’t know where to go,
I’m wishing I were somewhere where I’d be warm and dry,
Far away from those Monterey Pines
Black against the sky,
Black against the sky,
Black against a grey sky.
The meadows, they are weeping, the clouds are crying rain,
The dripping of the hedges has hypnotised my brain,
This unrelenting Nothing makes you want to die
And get far away from those Monterey Pines
Black against the sky,
Black against the sky,
Black against a grey sky.
The bleak and barren hillside wears those pines just like a frown,
I wish I had a chainsaw, I’d go up there and chop them down,
And build myself a tall ship and sail away one night
And never again have to look at those Monterey Pines
Black against the sky,
Black against the sky,
Black against a grey sky.
Now, in my dreams I’m lying on a balcony in Spain,
Or some country where they don’t need fifty different words for rain
And sometimes, when we’ve visitors from Ireland, I will lie
And say,”Yeah, you know I kind of miss those Monterey Pines
Black against the sky,
Black against the sky,
Black against a grey
Steely grey,
Sodden grey, Irish sky.