August Winds
When August winds are turning,The fishing boats set out upon the sea,I watch 'til they sail out of sight,The winter follows soon,I watch them drawn into the night,Beneath the August moon.
No one knows I come here,Some things I don't share,I can't explain the reasons why,It moves me close to tears,Or something in the season's change,Will find me wandering here.
And in my public moments,I hear the things I say but they're not me,Perhaps I'll know before I die,Admit that there's a reason why,I count the boats returning to the sea,I count the boats returning to the sea.
And in my private moments,I drop the mask that I've been forced to wear,But no one knows this secret me,Where albeit unconsciously,I count the boats returning from the sea,I count the boats returning from the sea.