Yardarms swing with the coming storm
The moored ships rock on the rising waves
Only those tied loose will withstand the blow
Sailors don’t have tombstones to adorn a grave
VI. Yardarms Swing With The Coming Storm
sailors
Ripping Out Pages
Ripping out pages
As I write these down
Better swim to shore
Before you drown
This isn’t the place
For the likes of you
A filthy bastard
Set adrift, it’s true
But be grateful
With me to thank
For the boys here
Wanted you upon the plank
You Don’t See It
You don’t see it
The boys not getting enough sleep
Those who have abandoned their homes
Keeping watch over the watery deep
You don’t see it
Those who dream of something better
Youth sacrificing blindly
Riding the tide, salt spray getting wetter
You don’t see it
Loading sea bags in early morning hours
Walking the gangplank in the face of fear
Trusting their lives to a Greater Power
Captain Q 