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.