We sent out the s.o.s. call.
It was a quarter past four in the morning when the storm broke our second anchor line.
Four months at sea, four months of calm seas to be pounded in the shallows off the tip of montauk point.
They call them rogues; they travel fast and alone
one-hundred-foot faces of God`s good ocean gone wrong.
What they call love is a risk, `cause you`ll always get hit out of nowhere by some wave and end up on your own.

A hole in the hull defied the crew`s attempts to bail us out.
It flooded the engine and radio and half-buried bow.

Your tongue is a rudder.
It steers the whole ship, sends your words past your lips, or keeps them safe behind your teeth.
But the wrong words will strand you, come off-course while you sleep, sweep your boat out to sea or dashed to bits on the reef.

The vessel groans; the ocean pressures its frame.
To the port I see the lighthouse through the sleet and the rain.
And I wish for one more day to give my love and repay debts, but the morning finds our bodies washed up thirty miles west.

They say that the captain stays fast with the ship through still and storm.
But this ain`t the dakota; the water`s cold. (so cold.)
Won`t have to fight for long.

(this is the end.)
This story`s old, (this is the end) but it goes on and on until we disappear.
(this is the calm.)
Calm me and let me (this is the calm) taste the salt you breathed while you were underneath.
(we are the resin)
I am the one (we are the resin) who haunts your dreams of mountains sunk below the sea.
(after the storm.)
I spoke the words (after the storm) but never gave a thought to what they all could mean.
(rest here with thee,)
I know that this (rest here with thee) is what you want.
(washed up on the reef.)
A funeral keeps both of us apart.
You know (washed up on the reef.) that you are not alone.
I need you like water in my lungs.

(this is the end.)
This story`s old, (this is the end) but it goes on and on until we disappear.
(this is the calm.)
Calm me and let me taste (this is the calm) the salt you breathed while you were underneath.
(we are the resin)
I am the one who (we are the resin) haunts your dreams of mountains sunk below the sea.
(after the storm.)
I spoke the words (after the storm) but never gave a thought to what they all could mean.
(rest here with thee,)
I know that this (rest here with thee) is what you want.
(washed up on the reef.)
A funeral keeps both of us apart.
You know (washed up on the reef.) that you are not alone.
I need you like water in my lungs.
(this is the end.)