Sweet surrender on the quayside
You remember we used to run and hide
In the shadows of the cargoes I take you one time
And we're counting all the numbers down to the waterline
Near misses on the dogleap staiways
French kisses in the darkest doorways
A foghorn blowing out wild and cold
A policeman shines a light upon my shoulder
Up comes a coaster fast and silent in the night
Over my shoulder all you can see are the pilot lights
No money in our jackets and our jeans are torn
Your hands are cold but your lips are warm
She can see him in the getty where they used to go
She can feel him in the places where the sailors go
When she's walking down the river by the railway line
She can still hear him whisper
Let's go down to the waterline
Copyright Mark Knopfler, 1978.
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