The Storm was rough upon the sea, where men had neither sailed.
The wind was blowing far to see and soon ripped the sail.
The ship tipped and turned the tide, and dipped deep beyond.
And what was left was floating, by an Island sung of Song.
A ship that sails cannot see therein what lies ahead,
all they can plan to be, is sailing towards the land.
Though a ship may see the light, a storm can still fall through. And
though a man, may turn the tide, the island still calls for you.
The waters rough, the wind will blow.
The rain will pelt your skin.
Your eyes will tear, a song, you'll hear drifting across the sands.
A Ship that sails cannot see therein what lies ahead,
all they can plan to be is sailing towards land.
Blue waters come and go, and salty sea air blows.
A ship that makes the journey slow, has very far to go.