Under the thatched umberalla,
they lounge by the milky green sea.
Through cupped hands white sands funnel down
unto the tops of her feet.
Across the sea is Africa.
The placid sea,
dappled with light fromthe setting sun.

The Costa Del Sol skyline
is littered with construction cranes.
Resorts are multiplying
as Europeans flock to the sun.
Young Germans are chilling out
on the whitewashed verandas.
They've got Kruder and Dorfmeister
kickin on a Band and Olafson.
Ooh la la,

Across the sea is Africa.
Ship lights blink,
trancing west, port of call in America.

People come out after nighfall.
Locals are scanning for girls.
Children have the run of the boardwalk.
They ziparound the chrome scooters.
The elderly enjoy their ice cream,
part of their all-inclusive deal.
The air thick with languages,
the air caresses the skin.

Across the sea is Africa.
Ship lights blink trace the east.
Port call in Tunisia.

The pulse of the discotech can be heard from the shore.
The beach is illuminated with lights of motos and little cars.
The young will congregate
and move their bodies again,
while on the beach they stroll by barefoot
and hum that 80's tune.

Across the sea is Africa.
Ship lights blink,
trancing west, port of call in America.