The hiiiiiiiigh seas are great!
You've been afloat so long,
skipping on chunks of lighthouse glass,
blown out beacons on coast or coast.
And that is where you shall head,
where you can't see,
and your hull is hulled, is Hull,
with a creak that makes me wince,
it has scraped many a shin.
When the chatter grows weak with neglect,
and you come in from the cold,
the wreckers will find you a purpose,
you will rise and sell dreams once again.
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