Over the sea

Out of my depth,I feel the call of the sea,oh,how it calls

To me

The land has fallen away,with a crash and a thud

A shudder in my blood

I should not be here at all.

I am no  longer innocent

The lissom child who sat on the edge

For then my ligaments and tendons were loose like grass

Now they are stiff like the salty cords on a rigger in the Baltic sea.

Where could I be that would accommodate my history?

I stand on the edge but not by choice

I was here when it was a  strong land

Undone by  his hand which I held

Touching the contracted finger gently

And singing.

Don’t go.don’t go, he cried.

I didn’t;

Then he died.

Where have you gone my seafarer?

Out beyond sight in Whitby again

With the salt cured fishermen.

Now they sail North

And never come back,never come back

Never come back to me,though I wait ,I wait by the sea.

But now I stand in a dangerous place

I might walk in space,walk in that space

Walk right over the sea

Till the waves seize a hold on me,but I know

I’ll   never  let go, never let go

Just so you know that it’s me

Guess the song:.Rockets and muskets,alive, alive crow

Where e’re you foam.

Yellow is the horror of my new love’s hair.

When the coat gets thin;hope wings infernal

Dance for your bladder,my little  old lady.

I’ll build me a bullet cabin by your date,

Don’t leave me,vet!

God never paid for any little green apples.

On which drummed hill did live a lass?

Parse cues me,have you got the right rhyme?

My life  is guinness free.

When liarish eyes’re beguiling.

Tweet, Jolly fell home.

.Rockets and muskets,alive, alive,so.

Which whirled war are we in now,oh Lord?

Does evil  never blend?

Will the end be bright maroon

Have you never been in gov,my boys?

Translated into melody and song

My faults are now the opposite of sin.

For I was taught that women  never swore.

Yet is this  but a private world I’m in,

Where women love and  men, at least ,adore?

No language Anglo-Saxon did we  hear

Ensuring we thought  not what “fuck” might mean.

Was it related to good luck yet  freer?

My mind throws up a lark in moorland  scene

The man who was my father greatly loved;

And  often sang us into sleep and dreams.

But sadly from this life he was removed.

Leaving   me accursed  wtrh blocked out screams .

Today I tell my tale in my  own tongue

Translated into melody and song