Sea Wolf

The morning air does compel you
To float down the spiral stairs
Spanish-blue stockings yawning
And the ashes in the air
Oh Captain, you ask yourself
I miss her of the raven hair
What future did you behold
When you stole me away from there
When you stole me away from there
She of the bloom and frost
Of cucumber and olive oil
She of the spring I've lost
To the song of the nightingale
Well, the penitent man will be forgiven
But the black-hearted will rot