Lyrics

Come morning on a slate-gray sea,
the eye informs him endlessly:
horizon, dawn-surrounded night,
serene and steady in his sights.
He measures time from fading stars,
brings down the sun to tell how far
to here and now, the hidden pearl
in bearings, wheels, and worlds.
All true sailors go atop a hill,
where all true sailors see, and always will,
a wave as truth, the ocean as what-might-be
where all true sailors reach eternally . . .

From weather, instinct, distant thrill,
or duty, some will find a hill
and rise to overlook the sea,
where ocean dreams of what to be:
now ice and steam, now stormy thing,
now roads to stream on, ways to wing
through time, the tunnel?endless, brief?
to glory, god, or grief.
All true sailors go atop a hill,
where all true sailors see, and always will,
a wave as truth, the ocean as what-might-be
where all true sailors reach eternally . . .

The navigator holds in care
the roads that run to anywhere:
through sounded seas and sudden ways
that open, close, and end our days.
When learners listen, teachers speak:
"The universe is not complete:
who reads the heavens understands
how motion makes the man."
All true sailors go atop a hill,
where all true sailors see, and always will,
a wave as truth, the ocean as what-might-be
where all true sailors reach eternally . . .