| We sent out the S.O.S. | 
| call.
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| It was a quarter past four, in the morning
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| When the storm broke our second anchor line.
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| Four months at sea. | 
| Four months of calm seas
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| To be pounded in the shallows off the tip of Montauk Point.
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| They call 'em rogues. | 
| They travel fast and alone.
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| One hundred foot faces of God’s good ocean gone wrong.
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| What they call love is a risk,
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| 'Cause you will always get hit
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| Out of nowhere by some wave
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| And end up on your own.
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| The hole in the hull defied the crew’s attempts,
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| To bail us out.
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| And flooded the engines and radio,
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| And half buried bow.
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| Your tongue is a rudder.
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| It steers the whole ship.
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| Sends your words past your lips
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| Or keeps them safe behind your teeth.
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| But the wrong words will strand you.
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| Come off course while you sleep.
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| Sweep your boat out to sea
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| Or dashed to bits on the reef.
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| The vessel groans
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| The ocean pressures its frame.
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| To the port I see the lighthouse
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| Through the sleet and the rain.
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| And I wish for one more day to give my
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| Love and repay debts.
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| But the morning finds our bodies washed up thirty miles west.
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| They say that the captain stays fast with the ship,
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| Through still and storm,
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| But this ain’t the Dakota,
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| And the water’s so cold,
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| won’t have to fight for long.
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| (This is the end.)
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| This story’s old but it goes on and on until we disappear,
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| (This is the calm.)
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| Calm me and let me taste the salt you breathed while you were underneath,
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| (We are the risen.)
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| I am the one who haunts your dreams of mountains sunk below the sea,
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| (After the storm.)
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| I spoke the words but never gave a thought of what they all could mean,
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| (Rest in the sea.)
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| I know that this is what you want, a funeral keeps both of us apart.
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| (Washed up on the beach.)
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| You know that you are not alone, I need you like water in my lungs.
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| This is the end.
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| …You never do see any other way… |