Monday, March 18, 2013

Drowning our Sorrows

Sea Fever
with apologies to John Masefield
I must go round to the pub again, to the comely pub's beckoning eye.
And all I ask is a tall sip in a bar of a beer close by,
And the grog's kick and the binge long and the white ale's shaking,
And a gay mist round a gay face till a gray dawn's breaking

I must go round to the pub again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a winning spray with the white suds foaming,
And the flung spray and the downed spume, and the sea lads buying.

I must go round to the pub again to the vagrant tipsy life,
To the mulled way and the hale way where the binge is the wetted life;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over.

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