A far place ashore

As a ballerina who plays the whore,

I was walking barefoot on tiptoes,

on the slitting edge of the high mast,

I fell from this wreck in the past.

Hidden I was in a far place ashore,

with no water to silence my throat.

I heard but a whisper in my hair,

this is how I knew you were there.

No maps you had, nor direction,

but you were not lost, if right I reckon.

No rum you said you had to share,

only pure water for this pain to bare.

The night descended on the castaway,

hiding, concealing the reality of the day.

You wished for a storyteller to sing,

so I played the part for the time being.

The horizon has been claiming my name,

god only knows how I wanted to set sails.

But my anchor is heavy for you to hold,

what good could it be a Captain so young?

The rum was not needed although that night,

there it was the Silence sitting by my side.

Gathered the fear now it lies on the shore,

and you read it all, right through the core.

Pirates have no names if not in fame,

better be dead, than tamed in shame.

Therefore – Captain – I myself proclaimed,

you still sat still and watched me parade.

Off I’ll go for how far as it may,

riding my fear as a whale while I sail away.

Far from the wheel I can’t guide the stir,

I’ll be damned if I fall behind my peer.

My head’s spinning out of control.

There is no escaping the shore.

Back to the new wrecked soil I lay,

unveiled the mask with the day.

Would you now, my sweet harbour man,

kindly welcome this spinning head?