Aye, the footmen are frantic in their indignation,
You see, "The Queen's took a taxi herself to the station!"
Where the porters, surprised by her lack of Royal baggage,
Bustle her and three corgis to the rear of the carriage,
For the train it is crammed with all Europe's nobility,
And there's none of them famous for their compatibility.
There's a fight over seats, "I beg pardon Your Grace,
But you'll find that one's mine, so get back in yer place!"

"Aye, but where are they going?" All the porters debate,
"Why they're going to Newcastle and they daresn't be late,
For they're launching a boat on the Tyne at high tide,
And they've come from all over, from far and from wide."
There's the old Dalai Lama, aye and the Pontiff of Rome,
Every palace in Europe, and there's nay bugger home.
There's the Duchess of Cornwall and the loyal Prince of Wales,
Looking crushed and uncomfortable in his top hat and tails.
"Why, they haven't got tickets," "Come now, it's just a detail,
There was no time to purchase and one simply has to prevail,
For we'll get to the shipyards or we'll end up in jail!"
When the last ship sails.

Oh the roar of the chains and the cracking of timbers,
The noise at the end of the world in your ears,
As a mountain of steel makes its way to the sea,
And the last ship sails.

And whatever you'd promised, whatever you've done,
And whatever the station in life you've become.
In the name of the Father, in the name of the Son,
And no matter the weave of this life that you've spun,
On the Earth or in Heaven or under the Sun,
When the last ship sails.

Oh the roar of the chains and the cracking of timbers,
The noise at the end of the world in your ears,
As a mountain of steel makes its way to the sea,
And the last ship sails.

Copyright: Universal Music Publishing Group
Writer(s): GORDON SUMNER