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This is the second of three songs that I wrote in Galicia whilst helping clean up the oil on the beaches. They are not going to appear on a 4-track EP called "Prestige" as I can't get the particulars sorted out (inlay, duplication... in short, money!). It has therefore been shifted with the poem to "waiting for the tide to rise".

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Scraping my nails down to the bone
Picking up the mess of a world gone wrong
We are figures of purity
On an impure coast

This beach was declared "safe" this afternoon
But this evening we still need gas-masks and protective suits
Tomorrow we'll watch their children playing
And picking oil from between their toes

I've been in Spain now for a few nights and all I've learned to say
Is "Que Cono" and "Nunca Máis"
There's something wrong when the helpers are knee-deep in oil and those who it affects
Sit watching doing nothing at all

The food destined for the volinteers
Got lost along the way and never quite made it here
So we sit with sweating hands in the pouring rain
Continuing to scrape with our stomachs grumbling

All this petty squabbling among the powers that preside
In the midst of a tragedy still growing in size

How many square inches are left to clean
In 550 miles of this blackened coastline
Fingerfull by fingerfull we'll persevere
And pick up these 77,000 tons of this enormous tragedy

This can never happen again
Open up your eyes
We'll march to the responsibles
And sing with one voice

Nunca Máis
Never Again
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