The ship is strewn with lanterns, sails
are catching in the breeze.
The ship is made of solid oak;
it’s ready for high seas.

The waning moon dips slowly down,
At last she says goodbye.
And holding hands, we know the ship
is not for you or I.

And all the dreams we ever dreamt
are dangling in night’s air.
But on the morn we’ll wake to find
our lives too clean and bare.