I sit on this rock, singing my sour song
For any man weak enough will fall into the endless depths-
The dark current strong.
For I sing like a ***** into dusk until dawn.
For any man weak enough will fall.
Until He-
His face untouched by the sea.
Cheeks rosy of winter strife.
Soft voice carried by the tide,
A whisper lost to the crashing waves-
Yet as gentle as the dawn that saves.
He who will not fall.
Salt which clings to weathered skin
Not his-
His face pristine
A voyager pure of sin-
The sea his mistress, harsh and keen.
I sit on this rock singing this sour song-
To no avail.
I sit on this rock wailing this sour song-
He will not fall.
For his name Adam, the Sea-Man
Weak man he is not.
I sit on this rock screeching this sour song-
He who will not acknowledge my sour screeching.
Adam, The Sea-Man.