Sargasso Gyre

Lyrics

A twelvemonth I went wandering, I swore I'd not return,
But the gyre, she has her reasons, and a sailor never learns —
Serpent coils the currents be, they have snared me once a gain,
Becalmed amidst a tender fleet, marooned upon the main.
I recognize the figureheads, their rotting gilded crests,
They beckon with a treasure that was never in their chests,
The selfsame ships, the selfsame souls, the selfsame charted lie
Around they go, and round again, and none of them asks why.

Heave! — to the tight Sargasso hold —
Ho! — its false treasure tis not gold —
It glitters and it shines, but it leaves a man cold:
it is gold for fools but this fool is growing old.

Each vessel flies the colors of a port it swears to seek,
Harbor, hearth, and anchorage — a peace they cannot speak;
But none of them have charted it, and none can name the shore,
They run it up because the rest had run it up before.
We covet by the running lights of every hull we pass,
The wanting in their wake tis but the thirst through looking-glass;
False colors flown by captains, and not one of them a cheat —
The lie is in the wanting, and the wanting is the fleet.

Heave! — to the tight Sargasso hold —
Ho! — its false treasure tis not gold —
It glitters and it shines, but it leaves a man cold:
it is gold for fools but this fool is growing old.

And I fly colors that I'd testify are true, I feel,
I want the harbor honestly — I think the wanting's real;
But standing in the selfsame line, I cannot help but fear
The flag I'd stake my life upon's the flag they all fly here.
I scan the glass for genuine, I hold out for the vein,
And maybe that's my virtue, but maybe it's my chain;
I'd know her by true colors, and I'd fall in line and steer
us toward our port beyond the gyre — could I but find her here.

Heave! — to the tight Sargasso hold —
Ho! — its false treasure tis not gold —
It glitters and it shines, but it leaves a man cold:
it is gold for fools but this fool has grown too old.