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As my ships slowly drift away
Slipping out of reach
And the waves softly whispering
Of distant shores, of distant lands

And my hands, weak and trembling
Graze the surface of my soul;
As you reach beyond the obvious,
Be prepared to lose it all

In the storm

In a hundred years of this solitude
Just a castaway,
Just another disposable hero;
They say the end is near.
Said, I know how you feel,
It's not you, it's not me
And it is not the way
I've always dreamt it to be.
But this is real - nothing but fear,
You can have …

A hundred years of this solitude,
Just a castaway,
Just another disposable hero;
They say the end is near.
Said, I know how you feel,
It's not you, it's not me
And it is not the way
I've always dreamt it to be.
But this is real - nothing but fear,
You can have it all …

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