The water trucks roll out across the cold desert tarmac
As they gather speed for oil fields that been burnin' for months
It's not water they'll be pulling from the desert on this morning
But they'll reap a bitter harvest from the fires of Kuwait

Twenty leagues from the coast saw the amber soaked horizon
Into the vast expanse of sand blown into fields of dunes
Gentle breeze used to sing a song to sooth the hearts of Bedouin
Now we hear the rolling thunder from the fires of Kuwait

As we pull into the oilfield, this armada bent on rescue
I could curse the men behind the desks who sell our lives this way
I never signed aboard to save them from this Iraqi invasion
That strands these fine young men beneath the fires of Kuwait

In the oilfields lie confusion, will they stand or are they running
If it's run, where will they go to between the dunes and the fires
On the flanks the fires advancing with heavy smoke they're billowing
And not a mother's son could save them from the fires of Kuwait

In scattered groups among oases some look towards a safer harbor
Some fix their eyes upon the flames that turn night to day
Some yet standing bold and ready to stoutly guard oilwells from burning
They'll need no flares to see them 'neath the fires of Kuwait

I've driven these desert dunes since I was man enough to face them
For the water drilled deep below I have often hauled away
But a catch like this I've never had in forty years of hauling
Saving oilwells as they blow into the fires of Kuwait

In Kuwait City 2011, about Desert Storm in 1991, after James Keelaghan: The Fires of Calais in his debut album Timelines 1987