Oh for the setting sun on the sea,
Oh for the life the sailor does lead,
Traversing the seas and riding the waves
Pushed onward and forward by the force of the trades.

Ah yes, the life of a sailor at sea;
Where any sailor worth his salt yearns to be.
Traversing the seas and riding the waves
Pushed onward and forward by the force of the trades.

Many a salty heart for the ocean does yearn,
Only to be happy when land recedes off the stern,
As he traverses the sea and rides the waves,
Pushed onward and forward by the force of the trades.

Tho’ a romance or two may distract for a while,
The sailor’s heart is filled with sea’s calls,
To be true to his heart he must answer them all
‘Pon a ship bound for somewhere other than where she now lay.

So as any sailor ‘ll tell you the sea alone is the one
To whom he is true and through whom he is one
When true to his heart, he answers the call
Sailing a ship bound for somewhere other than where she now lay.

We had come a long way together,
This boat and I.
She was tired.
She had worked hard,
beating across the Pacific,
pounding through waves,
leaning with the puffs,
standing up, waiting for wind.
She had brought us here.

We had worked hard too.
We had kept her going,
kept her pointed the right way.
We were tired too.

We loved our lady.
As I scratched and soothed
the salt from her back,
She loved me too.

As long as there’s
a boat to love,
an ocean to sail,
and wind to blow,

I’ll always have
a place to go,
A boat to sail,
and an ocean to love.

One thing lone ocean travelers know
Is the compelling call of the sea
A call that must be heeded,
That the called must respond to,
The call of the wide blue sea.

But those who’re called and answer
Who venture forth on the sea,
Are called by a love
A compelling need
A need to be at one with the sea.

But something the lone ocean traveler
Would never tell you, be it known,
Is that there is another call
A call coming from the land,
A call to return home.

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.