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Chris Robley & the Fear of Heights
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Heaven is Too High
And another thing, Johnson.
This shore leave won't be like your last little adventure
With your bootleg bottles of bourbon, modeling turbans,
With fast urban women at your side.
No, son, you've got to keep it clean in Cairo
Or else the locals turn mean on ya.
Datta, Dayadhvam, Damyata
And you'll find yourself one leg short of a pair
And your wallet will be the only thing that breathes again
Out in the open air.
Sure, at sea it's another set of stations.
The wind, the wave, the spindrift on your face.
Flying the flag of your nation
In such a brave occupation.
Heaven is too high.
Heaven is too high.
I try to climb one rung at a time but I find
Heaven is too high.
Until we pull into harbor for supplies
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With the earnest ardor of drunken sailors
Fresh from a killing.
We're all villains here, Johnson.
Don't fall fool to such folly.
And then it's off the ship like rats into the alley
Where the sinful spirits hide.
And there's a million ways to come alive
A million ways to die.
Datta, Dayadhvam, Damyata
Heaven is too high.
Heaven is too high.
I try to climb one rung at a time but I find
Heaven is too high.
Heaven is too high.
Heaven is too high.
I try to climb one rung at a time but I find
Heaven is too high.
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