A perfect storm is howling
In the ocean’s upraised fists
Bellowing forth her furies
Spewing drenching mists
Clouds surround in crowds
Concealing the desperate fight
Of a tiny ship in tempest,
A pitiful, puny sight
And my little fingers cling
To the groaning, creaking mast
As we’re tossed about by waves
I fight to keep my grasp
The rain shows no discretion
In pelting my burning skin
And the sea, she shows no quarter
To the broken vessel that I am
My ears are full and ringing
My strength feels almost gone,
But I trust I must keep singing,
Keep on keeping on
To the sudden break of dawn.
viewingcamelot 