| The alien sea roars astern,
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| The stars sparkle in the darkness.
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| All who are free from the night watch,
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| We gathered to listen to the guitar on the tank.
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| It's sad on a hike to sailor friends,
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| Thoughts about a distant home
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| The strings are obedient to sailor's hands
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| And the voice sounds lonely ah.
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| You tell us, guitar, about true friends,
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| About the quiet seaside boulevards of the far south,
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| About the blue wave, green spring,
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| About our good native side.
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| The voice of the guitar floats over the sea,
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| To alien stars in the sky.
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| A sailor's heart lives in a guitar,
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| A sailor's heart and a kind song.
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| It's sad on a hike to sailor friends,
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| Pulls them to their native home.
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| The ship is getting closer to its native shores,
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| And the heart has long been at home, at home.
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| You tell us, guitar, about true friends,
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| About the quiet seaside boulevards of the far south,
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| About the blue wave, green spring,
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| About our good native side.
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| About the blue wave, green spring,
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| About our good native side. |