There was a high pressure low Developing off the coast of Africa, Uplift in the atmosphere Pushed waves across the ocean Towards Antilles and Bonaire. While I paced in agitation, I drew the curtains closed, I set the air conditioner low, I pressed a warm wash cloth to my face, Somewhere out there A hurricane was coming...
[Chorus:] There's just no future Left for us to dream of, Living in an era of instability, So caught up In the culture of their rivals, Fear breeds in honest men, It's a high pressure low! It's a high pressure low!
Seven missiles flying Over the sea of Japan, Tales of feral children Sleeping in wolf dens, And the pious preacher commands, I hold my breath in anticipation, Into the shelter of the jungle Noble savages run, Vestal virgins triumph Over life-long inhibitions, And I wonder, what is real? What is fiction?
[Chorus]
Would anyone forgive Robert McNamara? In retrospect he had to admit: There was mistake In going to war Without first asking All the questions. Yes, Robert Strange McNamara, There are those who just cannot forget, And I wonder, and I wonder, Have I lost my own compassion?