The Mist (3)
I like it GB, very nice!
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Galactic_bodhi: My soul is clouded,
My mind is a bank of fog.
Would I could see the lighthouse
Wherein awaits my dear love.
So long at sea, now where is port,
Long and tired have I sought
Like a lovesick Magellen, uncharted sea
I long to be ashore and with my love
But here I sail, the Flying Dutchman,
Alone, lonely, and voluminous silent,
I lack the will to even sing a lament.
Ah, the hour is late, and mist encroaching
So many failures, I myself alone reproaching
Mistakes, and faux entendres, I am flailing
I am afraid, once more, again, of failing.
Should I curl my heart into a ball, and sink
My wounded heart, in too deep, I think.
This mist, uncertain, my curse, it's hurting,
I think, if I could die, it would be alone at sea,
With gulls around crying, "Poor me, Poor me!"
My mind is a bank of fog.
Would I could see the lighthouse
Wherein awaits my dear love.
So long at sea, now where is port,
Long and tired have I sought
Like a lovesick Magellen, uncharted sea
I long to be ashore and with my love
But here I sail, the Flying Dutchman,
Alone, lonely, and voluminous silent,
I lack the will to even sing a lament.
Ah, the hour is late, and mist encroaching
So many failures, I myself alone reproaching
Mistakes, and faux entendres, I am flailing
I am afraid, once more, again, of failing.
Should I curl my heart into a ball, and sink
My wounded heart, in too deep, I think.
This mist, uncertain, my curse, it's hurting,
I think, if I could die, it would be alone at sea,
With gulls around crying, "Poor me, Poor me!"
I liked this one.. until the talking seagulls made me laugh...
but more sad!
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Created: Jul 2008
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My mind is a bank of fog.
Would I could see the lighthouse
Wherein awaits my dear love.
So long at sea, now where is port,
Long and tired have I sought
Like a lovesick Magellen, uncharted sea
I long to be ashore and with my love
But here I sail, the Flying Dutchman,
Alone, lonely, and voluminous silent,
I lack the will to even sing a lament.
Ah, the hour is late, and mist encroaching
So many failures, I myself alone reproaching
Mistakes, and faux entendres, I am flailing
I am afraid, once more, again, of failing.
Should I curl my heart into a ball, and sink
My wounded heart, in too deep, I think.
This mist, uncertain, my curse, it's hurting,
I think, if I could die, it would be alone at sea,
With gulls around crying, "Poor me, Poor me!"