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.