Oh, how these lines burn
The rough, brined hemp through these hands
Draws and makes fast the ship.
Drawn tight, the fore-skysail stay
Cuts through brisk salt wind
And sings an adventure worth a song.
But comfort, these ropes draped and looped
’Bout the mizzen chains and fore,
Ready, like my Captain’s words,
To hold me fast to the post.
And when the devil’s winds
Want me free,
I’ll be tied fast to thee.