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.