| Now here’s a book full of photographs
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| That my ancestors made some generations ago
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| They’re wearing the lastest clothes in a nautical way
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| The Suez Canal close behind is frozen in time
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| The deck crews star out of a mime
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| And they seem to be considering me
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| Here on my Egyptian couch
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| O the life on Edwardian steamships
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| Is measured and slow, while down below
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| There are fires that shudder and clang and thunder
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| And sweat-caked in smoke, and cauldrons to stoke
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| To send the ship on her way
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| Tasting the salt and the spray
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| And a century later I scan the equator
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| From my Egyptian couch
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| And the news every day brings
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| Contains the strangest of things
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| But with confident smilesw my forebears decline
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| To gaze into the wings
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| So they look from the photographs
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| And they’re curious now, wondering how we turned out
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| Let’s say like the Chinese adage
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| We’re living our lives in interesting times |