Celia where's your home

I left you with those pine trees
Grown so tall they nearly block out the sun
That little wood was my idea
Thought it would  keep us warm
When the winter came
Shelter from the gale
Hey Celia where's your home
Behind those pine trees
Little rise
Where I was born

Can't grow nothing in that top field
Dry grass burned yellow by the sun
Waiting on rain in April
Some years it never comes
In the Adriatic
Signal lost in static
We waited to go on
I saw those pine trees
Little rise
Where I come from

In a no-man's land
Even sand burned everywhere but gone
I saw those pine trees
Little rise

Where I belong

Can't see nothing but those but those pine trees
Do they shelter you much better now they've grown?
Can't see faces now just branches
Tell me do you still call this place home?
For I would like to see
Yellow fields and swaying trees
And people resting in the sun
Or walking slowly
Back inside
Where I came from


An unreleased staple of live shows...


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