«Well I’m a weak and lonely sort
But I’m not sailing just for sport
I’ve come to feel, out on the sea
These urgent lives press against me
I’m just a guest, I’m not a part
My tender hands and my easy heart
These several years out on the sea
Made me empty, cold, and clear
Pour yourself into me.

Let fall your soft and swaying skirt
Let fall your shoes, let fall your shirt
I’m not the lady-killing sort
Enough to hurt a girl in port»