When Old Sailors Slipp Anchor

When old sailors go A seaman sees death as an ocean of tranquillity no storm will upset his raft he can safely sleep Through the ages of time, fish can swim, whales Blow a rainbow fine, and sharks can kill seals It does not bother him; the course is set For the Island of Saragossa where his friends wait to say: halloo old man, remember us? And they will help him make his raft into a beach hut where there is always sunset and the whisky bottle never gets empty. He sighs, home from the sea at last.