Surfin' Guantanamo Bay

Well, all the high ground's covered in a thick black fog

And any man of any honour, he'll be dying like a dog

And there's a little wind that's blowing

Up, perfect man, you know what I say

Pick up your waterboard and meet me down at Camp X-Ray

Yeah, everybody's gone surfing Guantanamo Bay

I try to wash it all away in the swell

But every wave drew my soul a little closer to hell

I try to push a little conscience to the back of my head

Out in the water until the whole damn ocean turns red

Well, now the weather's pushing ninety but my blood runs cold

And my faith is a slow complicit torture for my soul

I can't feel my fingers and it feels okay

I'm packing up all my troubles, wash them clean in the spray

Yeah, everybody's gone surfing Guantanamo Bay

I try to wash it all away in the swell

But every wave drew my soul a little closer to hell

I try to push a little conscience to the back of my head

Out in the water until the whole damn ocean turns red