The distant soul can shake the distant friend's soul and make the longing felt, over untold miles.
I must go down to the sea again For the call of the running tide It's a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied.
All I ask is a tall ship and a star to sail her by.
It's a warm wind, the west wind, full of birds' cries.
My road leads me seawards To the white dipping sails.
It ought to have gangsters, and aeroplanes and a lot of automatic pistols.