‘twas Sunday morning when I got word: in the dark land across the sea my son had been captured and ransomed and would be hung and quartered next moon
My hard work and fortunes drowned in a ship wreck, I was now a pauper man. I had no ransom to pay, no way to save my precious only blood, my precious son.
The war was going strong and I could not gain a ship. The captains, cowards all of them! Undeserving of the ships they stood or the pistols on their hips, Refused my passage; refused to sail, refused to sail.
So I set my chin into the freezing wind, swore a vow to heaven above and hell below I would cross the world and bring my ransomed son Home to me, home from the sea
I stole into the harbor in the dead of night found a skiff unmanned and unprotected Without second thought I boarded, raised ragged sails and took off in desperate flight across the sea
Now you may think me foolish to set out in a vessel so small and decrepit Alone and old and unprotected But I am Jean-Paul; I am King of this Water Let the hunger and the scoundrels come Let the evil beasts of the sea rise to stop me Let the ocean try to swallow me whole I will best them all, I will save my son.
I set out under a clear sky With a gentle wind to my stern but as the shoreline faded the ocean mood’s darkened
The waves picked me up and threw me down. I held fast. The bottom of my small craft Became my only home
As I cowered beneath the sea’s wrath what seemed like years passed until at last the center mast snapped and I was all alone
The setting moon further enraged the sea The cruel waves were determined to stop me Shaken, tired and weakened, I was broken free from my raft.
Tumbled and thrown and surely to drown Never again would I dare to even dream of the ground
Minutes and years passed. My lungs filled with water and brine, yet my lips snarled with determination For I am Jean-Paul; and I am King of this Sea Let it devour me and have my bones Let the sharks eat my flesh Let the crabs make my skull a home My rage will live on, I will save my son.
On a withered beach under the shadow of a black sun The gallows are standing, a lone noose is swinging the prisoner, tortured and beaten is soon to be hanging, all alone, all alone.
And the sea bubbling and roiling angry and boiling breaks among the rocks and the sand
The blood crowd is calling “String him up! String him up! Start him a-falling!” The executioner grins and two feet are flailing ….from the horizon, a great storm is charging
The waves stampede; crashing and thundering pounding and breaking, slamming and killing The gallows are shattered, the people are drowning Not one man is spared, not one man forgiven
Only the prisoner tumbled and torn Finds himself living after the storm
Surrounded by death, ripped flesh, and destruction He pulls the noose from ‘round his neck sets his chin to the bitter wind, his eyes to the saving sea And swears to his forlorn love, “wait for me, wait for me.”
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