A naked woman upon the figurehead Standing proud in the breeze Calling to the Sirens & wenches Knowing the truth of these seas Her beauty remaining firm & intact The ship around her orange with rust The sailors with splinters in their palms For she has a wooden bust
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
Sailing out on the good ship Prevailing winds ensuring a clear path Foregoing the unexplained existence Forging headlong into nature’s wrath Arctic waters surrounding our view Diligent sailors crewing this steel boat Perpetually longing for a illusive home But buoyed by a dedication keeping us afloat
Great American notebook Time to add our verse Or merely help to tread water While we all survive Ringing the ship’s bell Putting on warm tunes Honing the proper words To elevate our voice