lady boston
good, the bad & the queen, the
up in the tower that looks out to sea
the pink dressing room bell
she looks from the shadows
out through the stained colours of old grass
the sorrows of slate and sugar cane are hers
and where does she go now
and where does it seem to be free
and where does she go now
and where will she carry me
the blue dressing room bell
he wishes the head of the whale
until shipping lanes sliced
and where does it seem to be free