The water’s lapping, and it’s getting high.
Oh boy, it’s getting mighty high.
And there’s a tear in the sail up there, up where the wind blows through, where the wind blows.
And all the rats in below-deck traps are squealing for relief
‘cause there’s a scare in the air down there, but nobody seems to care.
Dear Lord, the water is so wide, and my little brown boat, so small.
The captain takes his tea at noon without any sugar.
But save your soul, ‘cause there’s a hole.
There’s a hole in the floor and the water’s getting in.
Get up high; there’s a hole in the sky.
There’s a void, and I don’t know why.

And there’s somebody on my ship.
A stowaway.

And there’s a fire-breathing dragon down with the mer-people, with the mer-folk.
And there’s a bell below the church steeple where the students go to smoke.
And we’ll be sailing, if we’re sailing strong into the harbor by the time it’s night
‘cause there’s a flare in the dome up there, oh that sacred northern light.

But there’s somebody on my ship.
A stowaway.

When you’re a sailor and you lose your limb, you’re gonna hobble, blessed wooden peg.
But when you’re lying in your seasick bed, reach to caress that new ghost leg.
Part is still there.
The heart is still there, silent as the deep.

So many months on the Ship Castration—give a kiss, give a kiss, give a kiss.
There ain’t no roads where we go.
But when you stare at the blue out there in that transitory bliss, watch for me—I’m coming home.

Unless there’s somebody on my ship.
A stowaway.