I dream of the ocean and the beautiful skies rolling out to sea.
I dream of the ocean
and the rip of the tide west of Finnistair.
The weight of the water
pouring down, holding on to me
I dream of the ocean, rising, rising
I dream of the ocean, rising, rising.
I dream of the ocean
through the night the ghosts are sailing still
the James Caird steering east by north-east
through the wild Atlantic swell.
The men lie soaked and cold beneath the sail
on a bed of ballast stone.
They hear the boss cry out
-I can see them now, the snow-capped peaks of land-
but it was the ocean, rising, rising.
A forty foot wall of water, crashing down,
they held their breath and prayed to God
in the hour of death to save them
from the ocean, rising, rising
I dream of the ocean, rising, rising.
And so the yeas they flow, the journey's end
the old crew sailed south again
and they buried the boss by the melting snow
in the summer winds on the islands
And now the ice it cracks and falls away,
driven in the storms.
And I'll be there, where the sky touches the sea.
At the edge of the ocean,
where the beautiful world fades into the grey
I dream of the ocean, rising, rising,
I dream of the ocean, rising, rising.