White walls catch the Atlantic light Minarets cut the winter sky Vichy flags hang limp in the heat While refugees count the days they buy From the Kasbah alleys to the Anfa shore They trade old names for a berth, nothing more Casablanca, city of the waiting heart Where every passport’s a fragile art Smoke in the café, static on the air The world’s still burning and nobody’s there Hold us till the ships come in November fog and the landing craft grind Yankee voices on a Moroccan wind French guns answer, then fall away A new flag climbs in the morning grey In the villa they map the road ahead Unconditional words that the radios said Casablanca, city of the waiting heart Where every passport’s a fragile art Smoke in the café, static on the air The world’s still burning and nobody’s there Hold us till the ships come in Play the old song one more time Under a moon that doesn’t care This isn’t a picture, the blood is real The harbor’s full of what we can’t repair White city, salt air, letters that never arrive We drink to the ones who might still be alive Casablanca, city of the waiting heart Where every passport’s a fragile art The war moves on but the fog stays low We keep the lights on so the lost ones know Hold us till the ships come in
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