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?
Trouble is,
I only have Jack Sparrow's compass
And it always leads me
To storms
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
Perhaps,
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?
She's stiffening
The clouds billow and dare me come
Truth is,
I don't know any other way
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