The Black Atlantic Paroles

Recollection I have
Is tracing with my fingertips
A faded photograph

I was out on the Black Atlantic
Clinging to the mast
(Sails tattered on the mast)
Praying on the windswept deck
That this ship is built to last
Calling, Crying, Shouting out your name

They say that once you've been there
You are never quite the same
My nerves are shot to pieces
I've been waiting here in vain

A ghost got in the looking glass
Who is that I see?
A shock of recognition
That poor lost soul is me And a salt-stained photograph

Now I walk these paper streets
And all the buildings sway
The tides that shift beneath my feet
Are going to carry me away