Heart of the Atlantic

We sustain the roughest skies,
A ship without its sails,
A voyage lost in short supply,
Morale and bread gone stale,

We endure the crashing seas,
Pushed from stern to bow,
For rolling waves and splintered knees,
Match not our dreams abound,

Dawn to dusk, home to home,
We’re cast between the peaks,
Better this than swim alone,
These boards of which we speak,

This is what it is to love,
Endurance of this ship,
A hell its own, without a throne,
A bench on which to sit,

If we make it back to shore,
I know I’ll curse the sea,
But then I’ll wish forever more,
That she’ll come back to me.