There is a place where the air is thick

And the water is blue

The sun is hot and the land is green

So far from this world removed

Oh, to be in the Indies

The people are poor, but the land is rich

The fruit hangs ripe on the tree

And falls in the street

Where the coffee is sweet on the tongue

Oh, to be in the West

A land where the hills

Are shrouded in mist

A place where the atmosphere

is heavier than the soul

Oh, to be in the Indies

A corner of the earth

At the end of the earth

Or a paradox

a beginning

Oh, to be in the West

Inches of land upon miles of sea

Everywhere searched is a new discovery

So ancient, so foreign, every man feels at home

The spirit is wild and free

Oh, to be in the Indies

Soil stained with blood

And streams fed from tears

A heart filled with sorrow and drunk with joy

And a lonely umbrella rooted in sand

Oh, to be in the West

The sunlight is a dreamy punishment

For which the water and breeze apologize

And the warmth of the night

Makes the hot day alright

Oh, to be in the Indies

A mask worn by day

By the dwellers of paradise

And at night a better mask still

But the visitor sees within

Oh, to be in the West

Anything desired for only a dollar

Plus a laugh to better your day

Though the smile is missing a tooth

There are worse off than these

Oh, to be in the Indies

Learn more about this author, John Mcdonough.
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