As he stood upon the watch deck
Looking out onto the sea
It would offer no solutions
So he took hold of the reasons
As he tried to understand
But they offered just confusion
As they bled into his hands
Dear god
Couldn't you decide
What should happen to a man's assassins
Dear god
Is it suicide
I have never been a man of passions
I believe what the prophets said
That the oceans hold their dead
But at night when the waves are near
They whisper
And I hear
There are wounds that bleed inside us
There are wounds we never see
They are part of our refinements
That allow a man to be
There are wounds that bleed in silence
With aristocratic grace
There are tears we keep beside them
Never seen upon a face
Dear god
Do you think it's wise
To remember everything that
