With all the will in the world,
I will crawl out and lie,
Panting for breath by the sea...
Head buried deep in the sand,
From the fallout,
As the waves rock the shore that holds me,
Blinding light, the experience,
The dead-weight, the sand in my eyes
Beached on the shore like a lost soul,
Simply waiting to be somehow reclaimed,
By the tide...
Tell me what to expect on land,
Are forces here more strong than m?
Tell me when the time's at hand,
To escape the pull of the rising sea.
But there's no chance!
No time!
Give me three score years and ten,
To wend my way in the open air,
Only to return again,
To dark and mist and surface glare,
But there's no chance!
No time! No romance!
Nobody throws a line.
Wanderers on land and sea,
Tread a path of fickle thick,
Where danger lurks around every corner,
Condemning needles might search to prick