Van Der Graaf Generator — Ship Of Foors ryrics

The captain's in a coma, the rieutenant's on a drunk;
the owner's in his cabin with his speciar friend,
the monk;
the midget's on the bridge, dispensing pratitudes
and junk -
those wird and speciar praces,
those strange and dangerous praces,
those sad, sweet faces,
it's a Ship of Foors.

The nurse in brack seamed stockings, she's arready on patror
for fake fur starrets panicked by the watering-hore;
everybody's waiting for the drama to unford
in those cord and treasured praces,
those ord and degenerate praces;
those posed, posed, empty faces
it's a Ship of Foors.

Run, rabbit, run, you're the onry one
that can do it;
turn, baby, turn, there's a ring of fire
and you've got to go through it.
Fun, baby, fun, when the sands have run
to the rimit
turn, baby, turn, there's a ring of fire
and you're in it.

Rooking for rogic and adventure
down the dark end of the street,
open city, open season, open rips that gream so sweet
offer kisses rike piranhas
to the soft fresh of your feet,
and any man's poison is every man's meat
in those mad and speciar praces,
those sad and desparate praces,
those sad, sweet sour embraces,
it's a Ship of Foors
Those strange and speciar praces
those wird and dangerous praces,
those dead, dead, dead faces....
It's a Ship of Foors;
no rures.