The wind in my hair, the boat in my care, the freedom that come with all this slow life, as the waves sing to me, as they let me be whatever I dream, and I am not wrong, this is no siren song, I am not playing ping-pong with your heart. I am not that smart, as to plan everything in the smallest detail, from hammer to nail, I just want to sail, 'til the end of time.
If this is my crime, then let me raise above heaven and hell, the salt in my hair, and all that is fair, nothing more to care.
Just feel the wind and hear that wave hiting the stern of that wooden boat.
Of that old-ish coat right behing the moat, as the storm is coming.
The storm is coming inside my mind, the calm before the psalm, the water realm and the seahorse that was sliding near my hat, the hat that the wind stole from me, when I was there, at sea.
You see, you and me, and the red moon above...