There's whitecaps on the harbour and a dead seal on the shore,
all the yearning of the ages won't bring you back for more.
Its sweet to think of love, sometimes wrong to trust to faith,
for nothing comes from nothing when hearts have come up poor.
You trumped me on the western docks, you shamed me in the morn.
I saw all sins through your pure eyes and drifted, lost, forlorn.
When does your view turn inward? Do you see what's going on?
Grant absolution early and I'll sing you a true song.
Us troubadours are restless, always strumming for a feed.
I miss you in the mornings and have lost you in the night.
We tell the truth in verses if you give is what we need.
So hum a little for me and with luck I'll get it right.
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