We sent out the SOS call

It was a quater past four

In the morning

When the storm broke our second anchor line.

Four months at sea.

Four months of calm seas

Only to be pounded in the shallows

Off of the tip of Montauk Point.



They call them rogues.

They travel fast and alone,

One hundred foot faces

Of God's good ocean gone wrong

What they call love is a risk,

Cause you will always get hit

Out of nowhere

By some wave and end up on your own.



The hole in the hull defied the crews attempts

To bail us out.

And flooded the engines and radio

And half buried bow.



Your tongue is a rudder.

It steers the whole ship.

Sends your words past your lips

Or keeps them safe behind your teeth.

But the wrong words will strand you.

Come off course while you sleep.

Sweep your boat out to sea

Or dashed it to bits on the reef.



The vessel groans

The ocean pressures its frame.

Off the port I see the lighthouse

Through the sleet and the rain.

And I wish for one more day

To give my love and repay debts.

But the morning finds our bodies

Washed up thirty miles west.



They say that the captain

Stays fast with the ship

Through still and storm.

But this ain't the Dakota.

And the water is cold.

We won't have to fight for long.



This is the end.

This story's old

But it goes on and on

Until we disappear.

Calm me and let me taste

The salt that you breathed

While you were underneath.

I am the one who haunts your dreams

Of mountains sunk below the sea.

I spoke the words but never

Gave a thought to what they all could mean.

I know that this is what you w