Irukandji Syndrome

Yeah, the big smoke choked and work dried up

So I chased the continental shelf

To a port named for a governor

Who would've never travelled there himself

I thought murders never happened in public toilets

People never wore shorts in court

Until I became a greenhorn

On a fishing boat up north

The skipper joined the navy

Rode destroyers in the Persian Gulf

Till burned-out plans in foreign lands

Had gone and dumped him in the tropics to redeem himself

We sailed many, many, many thousand miles

Sleeping on the open deck

Drifting on the ocean of a distant world

Dragging nothing except our empty nets

The voice at 3:00 a.m. is always dangerous

The voice at 3:00 a.m. is always game

And then late one night we cranked the winch

And I hoisted it up in the air

A giant Irukandji, lit up by a signal flare

It had seven eyes and seven tails

Laced with cyanide and DMT

The colour of a swimming pool

So heavy that the boat was leaning

We stood, shit-scared in the pouring rain, as it began to speak

It said, "I didn't mean to startle you

I heard your engines in the deep

You see, I've wrecked Korean trawlers

I've mauled a French corvette

I spooked an aircraft carrier that scrambled all its jets

And I muddied up the Bay of Pigs back in 1962

Yet, this time I'm quite sure that things won't end so well for you"

The voice at 3:00 a.m. is always dangerous

The voice at 3:00 a.m. is always game

The voice at 3:00 a.m. is always dangerous

The voice at 3:00 a.m. is always game