Sail On
the wharf was teeming
black and white,
the gulls were keening
in their flight
round and round
the fishing scow
the old man scowled
his heavy brow
forty years before the mast
and now today would be his last
the smell of fish,the salty air
was in his soul
and now despair
chilled his heart
like winter gales
he thought about
the moon on sails
the loved ones left upon
the shore
a hundred times or even more
he thought about his only son
who ran away when he was young
because he swore to never be
another sailor on the sea
the old man dropped the anchor then
and swabbed the decks and set his chin
he took his slicker and his hat
and walked the plank,
imagine that
but then a young voice from the past
hollered out,Ahoy,Avast!
there'll be no mutiny on my ship
I brought some ale
come have a sip
the old salt turned his weary head
oh son they told me you were dead
I'm not a ghost,it's really me,
let's get this bucket out to sea.
and 'round the world his spirit flew
and came back home to start anew.
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