Love in the air, you’ll be there, take the train.
Leave blues behind, free your mind, take the train.
Rain, hail or snow, off you go, take the train.
Pack all your gear, never fear, take the train.

Take the train!
Take the train!
Take the train.

Dine at high speed, all you need, take the train.
Drink sparkling wine while you dine, take the train.
Girls wave to you, you wave too, take the train.
Love lets you down, turn around, take the train.

The road is long and the sun’s beating down,
no sign of life since I left the last town.
Crossed valleys and mountains, bridges and creeks,
day in day out, I lost count of the weeks.

Go on I must, braving rain, wind or dust
along winding roads or straight avenues,
sometimes dead slow and sometimes real fast,
I measure the distance by the holes in my shoes.

Some walk alone and some walk in pairs,
pretending road or the country was theirs.
A little rain makes them see that they’ll lose,
how can you own the dust on your shoes?

Why did I start and is there an aim?
I just can’t say and walk on just the same.
One thing’s for sure yet no one knows why:
You start when you’re born and you stop when you die.

It’s the time of year
when I’m gripped by fear;
it’s so hard for you and me;
colliding, deciding.
A fortnight on the coast,
yeah, that would please me most.
But no, not Niece, it’s ancient Greece,
you’re choosing, I’m losing.

Standing at the crossroads
you ask me where to turn
and I say babe, I hope you don’t mind:
When it comes to holidays
the best thing we can do is:
you go your way and I go mine.

No dozing on the beach
gin tonic within reach,
we’ll stumble across crumbling stones,
how amazing, sun’s blazing.
And in that burning heat
no time to rest my feet,
another temple up that road,
exploring, how boring.

Oh, baby, can’t you see:
I hate antiquity!
I need my rest so it’s the best,
I’m quitting, we’re splitting.
Admire ancient stones
while I rest my bones,
I’ll praise your slides you’ll show with pride,
explaining, entertaining.

It might have been around midday,
the rain had swept the land,
I crossed the river to the mountain range…

…and touched the rainbow’s end,
I touched the rainbows end.

I got swept up in its magic
and to the sky I went,
rolled down the window to feel the air…

I got caught up in its colours,
its beauty’s fragile land;
I got a ride way down the slide…

Feel like a pilgrim stranded,
the road unknown,
the land ahead drowned in the haze.
A distant church bell’s ringing,
no soul in sight,
no one to share my lonely days.

I hear the mountains calling,
they’re calling me,
but I’d rather stay here
thinking of the sea.

So many miles I’ve wandered,
so many years,
the mountain range still out of reach.
The peaks so ever distant
and yet so near
like the horizon from the beach.

Am I a wave that crosses
wide-open seas
with a vision of the distant land,
weathering storms and rolling
for years on end
but from the beach forever banned?

No wind is blowing, the ships not moving at all!
Where are we going, the night’s beginning to fall.

There in the distance I sense somebody’s waiting
and it’s high time to meet again,
but this bloody ship it isn’t‘ t moving,
don’t let them be waiting too long or in vain.

All right I remember you say,
all right maybe next time maybe later
we will have our date.

The boat’s such a slow cow the water’s so bloody wide!
If you could see me now fighting the tide.
And the sailor’s a prisoner of his hopes and futile dreams,
carving his lonely wishes into oaken beams.

The nights are dreadful under the Southern Cross,
so many miles to cover and so many oceans to cross.
What have we got at the end of the ride?
Some awful tattoos and an empty inside.

In every harbour a bride is waiting
and crying her heart out with the outgoing tide
but a true sailor-boy will not worry:
There are many harbours and the water is so wide.

Last night I moved out of Cairo,
traced down a friend near that town,
trotted the way like a wino,
inside my outside a clown

Later I sailed down to Hong Kong
nearly got killed by a crowd!
They caught me and took me to prison,
I’ll never know what it was about.

Strange sights I see,
wild countries I roam;
sometimes I get lost
and wish that I was home.

Met an old monk there in Tibet,
he smiled while he took my hand.
Then he pointed to the mountains;
he just said I am your friend.

Now I live here in my hometown,
memories crossing my mind.
Well I still keep on searching
for something I may never find.