The Sea
I'm near 40 years old and wrote songs when I was a kid up into my early 20s. Then I never again picked up a pen until my mid 30s. I went through some stuff that blocked my access to that big pencil in the sky. Listening to Townes Van Zandt woke my creativity back up and gave me a line to sky pencil. He's the best songwriter that ever walked this earth, in my opinion. This song is my tribute to him, though is much more a metaphor of an individual trying to find happiness in life, struggling through the storms and waves to reach a destination that ironically ends up being like everyone else's final destination: Death. This song is one of my babies. I cringe at the thought of it being anyone else's, but a writer needs to put their stuff out there, personal or not. Hope y'all enjoy. Think "Buckskin Stallion Blues" when reading these lyrics. Also: The "chorus" of this song is just after the second bar in each verse. The tempo's meant to pick up with an in-verse chorus. I think anyone who reads it will understand the gist. Thanks.
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In den Warenkorb
Wunschliste
I think I'd like to build a ship
Its pretty sails would face the sun
I'd chase it down from east to west
With winds a-fightin' bow to stern
Bending planks peach wood and maple
Supple sweet and twice as strong
A cabin with a stained glass gable
A little place to write my songs
And the sea to rock me to and fro
Like privateers of long ago
The squalls would blow, small tornadoes
Missing barely off the aft
Afore the mast and grasp my bearing
I'd trim the foresails as it passed
Cry ahoy, my songs to tempests
I'd knuckle down, await the sun
To peer its face back from its respite
So I'd be versed, the darkness gone
And the sea to sway me close ashore
Where many sailor's lost before
I would sit atop the crow's nest
Least I'd think I'd be so brave
Leave the helm to whistling spirits
And hum a shanty, pass the day
Aloft I feel so close to heaven
Closer still to those below
Spindly hands reach from the locker
They whisper words that I don't know
And the sea would spin me 'round and 'round
Breathe the air so I don't drown
Run aground on a tragic islet
No prim or polish, just my stroke
Deafening lulls of day-born silence
Nightly murmurs from its ghosts
Accept my fate and lie there waiting
The billowed sky to be my ride
Salty dryness drinks from my veins
Lift and carried by the tide
And the sea to take me to my home
Warmness grows as I let go
© Brian Hendrix 2020
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