A ship is a slight thing To moor alongside a city. Masts are frail Against steel and stone. Chanteys are silent When streets are talking. Sails are furled Where the towers rise tall. A city is white like lightning And straight like pride -- And a ship is a grey whisper Tired at its feet . . . @3If the ship were mine And the masts black -- If the ship were mine And the sails bronze -- I would make a chantey Heavy with gold; I could forget to know That a city ever stood!@1 |