As he stood upon the watch deck

Looking out onto the sea

It would offer no solutions

Only silent company



So he took hold of the reasons

As he tried to understand

But they offered just confusion



As they bled into his hands



Dear god



Couldn't you decide

What should happen to a man's assassins



Dear god



Is it suicide

I have never been a man of passions



I believe what the prophets said



That the oceans hold their dead

But at night when the waves are near

They whisper



And I hear



There are wounds that bleed inside us

There are wounds we never see

They are part of our refinements

That allow a man to be



There are wounds that bleed in silence

With aristocratic grace

There are tears we keep beside them

Never seen upon a face



Dear god



Do you think it's wise

To remember everything that