| I dream of the ocean and the beautiful skies rolling out to sea
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| I dream of the ocean and the rip of the tide west of Finnistair
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| The weight of the water pouring down, holding on to me
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| I dream of the ocean, rising, rising
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| I dream of the ocean — through the night the ghosts are sailing still
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| The James Caird steering east by north-east through the wild Atlantic swell
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| The men lie soaked and cold beneath the sail on a bed of ballast stone
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| They hear the boss cry out — I can see them now, the snow-capped peaks of land
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| But it was the ocean, rising, rising
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| A forty foot wall of water crashing down
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| They held their breath and prayed to God in the hour of death
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| To save them
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| From the ocean, rising, rising
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| I dream of the ocean, rising, rising
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| And so the years they flow and journey’s end
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| The old crew sailed south again
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| And they buried the boss by the melting snow
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| In the summer winds on the island
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| And now the ice it cracks and falls away, driven in the storms
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| And I’ll be there — where the sky touches the sea
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| At the edge of the ocean where the beautiful world fades into the grey
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| I dream of the ocean, rising, rising
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| I dream of the ocean, rising, rising |