THE WAVES

The waves, the waves,
the crashing waves,
which froth and foam,
and smash my bones,
on the deepest darkest ocean.

The breeze, the breeze,
the blowing breeze,
which curls the sails upon the seas,
which lures the sailors siren tease,
on the deepest darkest ocean.

The swell, the swell,
the buckets, now,
to calm the hurling belly hell,
which hates the smash of sands and shells,
on the deepest darkest ocean.

The sun, the sun,

the gold above,
up in the swirling sky of love,
where dreams, and hopes, and sea-birds fly,
on the deepest darkest ocean.

The death, the death,
where time takes breath,
for salt, and sea, has had its best,
and oceans spray, and caskets lay,
on the deepest darkest ocean.

The drums, the drums,
the doldrums play,
the albatross avoids the spray,
the maddening sailors, sing drunk, and sway,
on the deepest darkest ocean.

The dead, the dead,
to sea-worms fed,
whom lay on Davy Crockets bed,
will sleep beyond the waves, their rest,
on the deepest darkest ocean.

SHOESTRING SHANE