The Black Atlantic

The last thing I remember
Before they brought me in
Was whispering through trembling lips
«Take a message to my kin»
After that the only
Recollection I have
Is tracing with my fingertips
A faded photograph
I was out on the Black Atlantic
Clinging to the mast
(Sails tattered on the mast)
Praying on the windswept deck
That this ship is built to last
Calling, Crying, Shouting out your name
They say that once you’ve been there
You are never quite the same
My nerves are shot to pieces
I’ve been waiting here in vain
A ghost got in the looking glass
Who is that I see?
A shock of recognition
That poor lost soul is me
Since that night out on the sea
No keepsakes do I have
Just the thought, the dream of you
And a salt-stained photograph
Now I walk these paper streets
And all the buildings sway
The tides that shift beneath my feet
Are going to carry me away