One breezy autumn night far away
is the same moment as now and
I'm trying to understand that
I won't be here for long.
Like the leaves that fall down so slowly,
leaving without a trace.
Or should I make a trace?
I've got several autumn night dreams,
romanced in my mind.
And if you say that they won't come true I'd say:
“Shut up shut the hell up!”
Because being realistic is like being a blind man
turning all lights off.
["I should probably be trying harder to score chicks.
That's the only thing anybody really cares about.
It's not my forte, unfortunately."
"Max, it's just.. you're one of those clipper ship captains, you're married to the sea."
"Yes that's true, but I've been out to sea for a long time."]