Meanwhile back in Hastings... things seem the same
Although, of course, in two days all can change
A plane comes down, the co-pilot's to blame,
And logic somehow slips right out of range.
Hear those witches humming round a cauldron?
Hear all those trapped inside send up a prayer?
Hear the sounds of crying, screaming children
Howling for their parents who aren't there.
Sometimes I wish I cared a little less,
My heart it bleeds for things I sometimes hear,
The news is so disturbing I confess,
That often I turn off when sorrow's near.
Now safe and back in Hastings thanks to chance,
We see the same headlines we saw in France.
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