Cifras
Fires Of Calais

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The fishing boats rolled out across the dark green channel water
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As they gather speed for Flanders, they cut their nets away
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It's not herring they'll be pulling from the waters on this morning
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But they'll reap a bitter harvest from the fires of Calais

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Twenty leagues from France I saw the amber soaked horizon
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In our lee the cliffs of Dover fall beneath the channel waves
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Where waters used to sing a song to soothe the hearts of fishers
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Now we hear the rolling thunder from the fires of Calais

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As we pull in tight to shore, this armada bent on rescue
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I could curse the men behind the desks who sell our lives this way
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I never signed aboard to save them from this bloody lack of planning
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That strands these fine young men beneath the fires of Calais

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On the beach allied confusion, will they stand or are they running
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If it's run, where will they go to between the sea and the mêlée
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On the flanks the troops advancing and with heavy guns they're firing
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And not a mother's son could save them from the fires of Calais

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In scattered groups upon the shore, some look towards a safer harbour
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Some fix their eyes upon the flames that turn night to day
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Some yet standing bold and ready to stoutly guard the rear from Jerry
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They'll need no flares to see him 'neath the fires of Calais

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I've fished these channel waters since I was man enough to face them
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For the herring and the flounder I have often hauled away
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But a catch like this I've never had in forty years of sailing
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Saving Tommies as they flounder 'neath the fires of Calais

         C                                       Em                         F                                   G 
The fishing boats rolled out across the dark green channel water
                 C                               Em                         F                             G 
As they gather speed for Flanders, they cut their nets away
                   C                                   Em                             F                           G 
It's not herring they'll be pulling from the waters on this morning
                 C                         Em                             F                   C 
They'll reap a bitter harvest from the fires of Calais