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Tried by the Centre Court
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Sea Fever
Cast off!
Knit two together!
On the road that runs to the harbour wall,
Where the lubbering landsman sleep,
I hear a strange mysterious call;
'Tis the call of the ocean deep.
I must go down to the sea,
To see the rollicking boat,
Where the breakers roar and the salt-spray flies,
And a sailoring man can stretch his eyes,
Why - here's a boat
Come, let us set it afloat,
Hey ho for the open sea
Where the skudding sail and the sharp winds kiss,
And I say to myself, say I, why this,
This is the life for me.
With a tiller that kicks like a living thing,
While the mainbrace sings on high,
Whatever the sea may bring,
Ready, I'm ready, am I.
Oh, to be riding high,
In the teeth of a thundering gale,
Where the decks awash, and the bowspits crack,
As I bring her about to a starboard tack,
Why - here's a gale.
I must go down to the - (ugh)
No thanks, I won't have any soup
I seem to be suddenly taken queer,
If somebody else would like to steer
I'm feeling - (ugh)
Carry me back to the land (ugh)
Pebble, mud or sand (ugh)
Oh, to be back on the beach once more
On still, dry land
From the road that runs by the harbour wall,
I gaze at the bounding mane,
I hear a strange mysterious call;
'Tis the call of the sea again (oh, not again!)
I must go down to the sea,
To see the rollicking boat,
Where the breakers roar and the salt-spray flies,
And a sailoring man can stretch his eyes,
Thank God: No boat!
Originally from the album 'Tried by the Centre Court'.
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