There is in every sailor’s heart
A port that he calls home;
A port that remains etched in memory,
No matter how far or wide he should roam.

He knows the leading lights so well,
He knows the fog horn’s moan;
He knows the shifting sands of the bar;
He knows that port called home.

It’s where as a boy he would walk the docks,
Alone on a Saturday,
Admiring the boats and yachts and ships
That he aspired to sail.

It’s where by the water’s edge he would sit
And for hours stare out to sea,
Dreaming of the time that would one day come
When on the ocean he’d be set free.

It’s where that fateful day did come
When the first time the bar he crossed,
And leaving land’s turmoil behind in the wake,
He knew to the sea his life would be lost.

Every sailor has a port called home;
For which a part of his heart still yearns.
That he remembers and loves and always knows
One day he will return.

Some sail back on the ebbing tide
Aboard the ship of their dreams;
Bearing the fruits of their voyages so long,
And a bond with the sea so real.

Others sail back on ships of the night,
When their ships have gone down in tragedy,
For though departed now from the sailor’s life,
‘Twas a life filled with love for the sea.

Even the ocean-faring sailor’s departed soul
Cannot rest in peace in the sea, or above,
So every sailor must return, living or not,
To that port he calls home–he loves.