I'm walking next to you
To the grey upon your shore
I breathe your salty mind
And my ears hear your wave's roar

Most precious things got lost
Lost am I upon your sand
Your waters grey from hope
From those dreams died hand in hand [bad word] sails appear
My eyes rinsed saltwaterly
light in grey disorder
Sawing spindrift in the sea [bad word] [bad word] a shape
And the shape a ship in form
It's weeping wordless poems
Telling legends from the storm
It's landing in the bay
Softly wavering on our hands
The [bad word] down the mast
While the gangman nearly lands
I'm entering like a pilgrim
On my lastest pilgrimage
On deck sit icy frozen
Numbed man in badinage
I'm placing my beloved
Right into the frozen round
I leave the ship's planks groaning
And the sails I set the sound

While you take man my dear one
Into a grey moven swarm
Your voice signs while I'm leaving
Telling legends from the storm