Текст Stan Rogers – Sailor’s Rest

It’s acrimony down in the card room
With winning hands thrown on the baize
Forgotten cards wait on the end of debate
On the good old days

Blue eyes in wrinkled Morocco
Still search the horizon for squalls
And Zeros in the sky and the watchkeeper’s eye
And the pawn shop balls
The spice in the wind off of Java
And the bars in Papeete were best
But the deck is too steady
Down at the Sailor’s Rest

And oh… how they talk of the day they arrived
When after the years, all the storms and the tears
Still very much alive
And oh… how their lives were spilled out on the floor
From the battered old seabags, the journals and logs
And the keepsakes locked in the chests
That were stowed in the attic (sold at the auction)
Down at the Sailor’s Rest

No rail on the mess room table
And you’re dead if you spit on the floor
No grog allowed, no singing too loud
And no locks on the doors
But there’s always a fire in the card room
And the tucker is always the best

And oh… how they talk of the day they arrived
When after the years, all the storms and the tears
Still very much alive
And oh… how their lives were spilled out on the floor
From the battered old seabags, the journals and logs
And the keepsakes locked in the chests
That were stowed in the attic (sold at the auction)
Down at the Sailor’s Rest

And oh… how they talked of the day they arrived

So… It’s acrimony down in the card room
With winning hands thrown on the baize
Forgotten cards wait on the end of debate
On the good old days
Captains and mates getting testy
With memories not of the best
And tempers are flying
Down at the Sailor’s Rest