On the boats, the old and creaky boats, the shoreline goes gliding by, and the wind, there was a dying breeze, is making the banners fly. See the colors, floating in the sky, the pride of the captain's eye, as he glides his slender craft inside and opens up the door.
On the coast, the long and tempting coast, the cards on the table lie, and a speech, so eloquent in reach, was made by a passerby, passing by the way between here and left behind. And it ripples through the crowds who run and cast their doubts in the deep forbidden lake.
