The Ships

send me the ships, old friend | the boats that you promised to send | drawn by your very own hand | alight with fire and flame, sparkling in red and in blue | send me the ships that you drew | the first time i laid eyes on you | in a crowded central station | in the shadow of an angel | whose flightless wings spread and covered | it was too dark to see me blush, too loud to hear me stutter | where is the fleet, my dear? | the one that you swore was so near | i persist through each night | and strain my eyes beyond sight i lose hope that they'll ever be here | where is the fleet my dear? | the last time i laid eyes on you | in a noisy foreign airport | by the demon with his jeweled sword | whose gilded crown shone and glistened | when you answered 'i do not' i did not really listen | where are the ships, my love? | the boats that you promised to carve | made of the wood from the Ark | i'd send them faster than thought up the river that passes his home | how else will i make myself known? | 'i left the trees where they stood | to be quite honest i wouldn't waste the wood | to burn my boats on a distant shore | to call out to someone who hears no more...' |