It was back in the winter of 2002, when the ship was wrecked and she broke in two.
Prestige was named but it meant no good, just to ruin this land and cause our doom.

The fishermen stared at the coming threat, and refused to wait for the government’s help.
There wasn’t time for yapping it was time to work. They picked some skimmers and sailed out the bay.

The blood of the land, the blood of the land is killing for a price nobody wants to pay.
There’s oil on the water and all on my hands. We’re going to a war for the blood of the land.

Well the authorities said everything was ok. “There ain’t no spill, there’s no such a thing”.
They took days off, they just fled inland. For hunting and fishing the President failed.

But many a friend came to lend a hand, to clean the shore, to fight the pest.
They brought some nerve to this land of dead. Most were welcome but some were spurned.

The blood of the land, the blood of the land is killing for a price nobody wants to pay.
There’s oil on the water and all on my hands. We’re going to a war for the blood of the land.

Well the TV said “there’s nothing to dread” and the Army came to spray some sand.
They took some pictures up from the air to prove it looked perfect and the cleaning should end.

The blood of the land, the blood of the land is killing for a price nobody wants to pay.
There’s oil on the water and all on my hands. We’re going to a war for the blood of the land.

But the blood of the land is counting its days. This wasting and spoiling will come to an end.
There’ll be no fumes in the air we take but ‘neath the surface a void will stay.

The blood of the land, the blood of the land is killing for a price nobody wants to pay.
There’s oil on the water and all on my hands. We’re going to a war for the blood of the land.

Written by Harvey Springfield © 2018