We shall go to the sea late summer
When a faraway storm brings waves
When moon is waxen yellow and low
And all the sky is a nave.
We shall go to sea late summer
When the air is a syrup of blooms
When the air is an oven of slumber
And all the shore is a room.
The waves will be our whispers
And all we have to tell
The waves will be our cradle
In the frolick of the swell
We shall taste salt on skin
Salt upon our mouths
Salt upon the air that swims
On the shores of the seas of the south
We shall go to the sea late summer
Without gravity or edge
Without the trappings of fashion
With nothing that needs to be said.
We shall go to the sea late summer
When a faraway storm brings waves
When the moon is waxen yellow and low
We shall go to the sea and be saved.
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