Out to sea

The Fried Irish

It all began on a stormy night out to sea
When the waves rose like the spirits of old
'By the saints, what manner of tempest be this?'
I cried to the wind, but the wind cared not

Adrift, indeed, said I
Adrift, indeed, said I
Adrift, indeed, said I
Adrift, indeed, said I

In the quiet of the night, I found myself talking to the stars
Hoping they held the secrets of me fate (of me fate)
In the quiet of the night, I found myself talking to the stars
Hoping they held the secrets of me fate (of me fate)

Days blurred into nights
I shouted me frustrations
The words lost in the vastness
Sailing through the labyrinth of me