Many centuries of wood Move with the waves beneath my feet What kind of ship is this When all that moves is the stars? For I need not wash upon the shore to know That life is moving much too fast Even here To deal a greater blow Than Apollo's single wave One fluid motion Of every action on this watery blood soaked field And one lamp (from many, fed by a river of timelight) to bind us to this course Praying only for a good death in your arms My beloved Muse I send this last and final thought to you Death is no great thing Compared to our love But that it brings that which is far away Closer The sooner you forget me The sooner I am rising again We did not think we could see our shadow Or the shadow of a tree At night But we can! We can! By lamps lit at evening By lamps lit at evening! By morning, my Captain approached And an angel crowed from his right shoulder For he himself was mute "Where is this creation taking place?" I thought about this before answering And finally said, "The man who knows the answer to this question lives under the sea, inside the moon." The answer seemed to satisfy him, Which was a good thing, For I could be killed for the other. And all that got me through the night Was my own thirst for blood It invigorated me And made me whole By morn' a mist had settled upon our ship And a skylark sounded Meaning land we have arrived at Rowing to shore I shiver all the way This is harder Knowing what I have done to get this far On land I stand Knowing where I am Like a child Like a bird For as much I know I not know |
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