The mem'ries live inside my dreams
illuminating white and black
Your shapes and figures, blotted out,
the pen of time does not give back.

There are some days, my eyes go dark,
a rush of sin creeps through my blood.
the good in me was left inside
the man I was before the flood.

I try so hard to keep reminders:
the things you'd say, your endless laughter.
that life is made of little joys,
that death is but the final chapter.

So as you cross that endless sea,
returning to the other side
know that you are not forgotten
for you will always be my guide.

A sail is made to catch the air
and guide it toward our meaning's end.
We drift across the sea without
the ship we build to sail within.

In calmer waters, steady winds
we amble toward the beacon light
the stoics take their stock by day
and count their blessings through the night.

When storms kick up and waves arise
a simple choice will oft appear
to beat our chests and curse the sky
or patiently befriend the fear.

And if our journey brings us to
where water and the ether meet.
'tis better death to leave a mark
than wallow in our own defeat.

It matters not which crew to bring
which lands to claim, which hearts to win.
We drift across the sea without
the ship we build to sail within.