lying in the grass
Looking up through a gentle tree
Whispering secrets in the breeze
Wisonsin feels kind, just now
Wondering, should i plot a course?
I only have Jack Sparrow's compass
And it always leads me
God, how i love the storms!
But this ship, so broken and battered,
How many tempests can she drive?
I lean a mast and watch my wake
From the stern,
And think of the dusty charts
Rolled and parched
That was never my way
Some men are born to storms
And crazy compasses
Such am i
So do i go bare poles and drift?
Or full sail, tattered and torn?
Could make a run for the harbour
Sell stories from the pier
And let the storms rage without me
Feel that breeze?
The clouds billow and dare me come
I don't know any other way
Sent from AT&T's Wireless network using Mobile Email