Sing a song for the ocean,
something soft, something sweet,
heart her gentle laughter, and feel the waves on your feet.
For how many men have heard her mealody?
Listened as the surf called their name.
and felt the pain of need,
to plunge into those broad dark arms and sink into the sea;
Walk the floor of the briny deep,
like some Oceanid, like a dreamer lost in sleep.

What we wouldn't give to a part of that great, salty solution,
to be soaked in its mysteries, saturated in their profound meanings.
Oft, have I wished to dance with the mermen, and feel the seaweed sway,
see what the fish see, and watch the porpoise play,
to hear the mournfull call of the whale, which echoes along the reef,
and know what peace is there in the deep.

But, the far reaching abyss is too grand for out mortal arms to swim,
our eyes, too weak to pierce the sobriety and discern her shape,
doomed to gaze from above the white lashes of her waves,
that rise in the wind.
Still we long to be near, and cling to the shore
like a child clings to his mothers dress.
Living beside her, desperate neighbours we,
look upon her from behind a fence of cliffs, a wall of foam,
and watch as the tide weaves back and forth against the stone.

Each generation puts out to sea,
drawn by the crests that seem to wave,
calling us against our mothers pleas,
which warns of a watery grave.
We hear only her voice, and the call of the gulls,
for a chance to win her heart, we'd be glad to die.

So we cast our nets,
in search of our maidens hand,
as our wives watch with grey eyes, back there on the sand.