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She comes up, rising, like the tide,
And all around her, they say she's mad;
But she is the ocean, deep and wide,
And that's the reason she wants so bad,
And that's the reason it hurts so bad,
And that is the longing,
And that is the ache,
And that's the reason they say she's mad.

And every time she gains her strength
And the waters rise---the sun comes clear,
And tries the ocean's swell to break;
But look at her eyes: she has no fear,
Except of the ocean, bleak and drear---
And this is the dying,
And this is the dark,
But it keeps her alive when the sun comes clear.

There is nothing on earth that can save her now,
Except for maybe the cloud and rain---
But always, always, the sun the comes out
And tries to drive the clouds away;
But the ocean's swell cannot be tamed---
And this is the fire,
And this is the soul,
And the sun can't kill the cloud and rain.

All around her, they say she's mad,
But they can see the waters rise,
And they don't know that she hurts so bad,
But they can see the fire in her eyes;
And they don't hear the way she cries---
And that is the struggle,
And that is the pain,
But always, always, the ocean will rise.

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