In a little room, in an old hotel,
where I had stayed, till I got well,
till winter's sun, had come and gone,
until my bones were strong enough,
to carry me home, I opened up a window,
and slipped into the dawn.
For many miles, and many more,
I walked until I reached the shore,
where penniless, where tired and sore,
I tied together branches,
threw myself into the ocean's roar.
I threw myself into the ocean's roar.
In a homemade boat, on the open sea,
with no northern star to guide me,
in blinding rain, and driving wind,
my only thought, that I might live,
the day.
Or make it to your front door,
anyway.
That I might,
find you again.
That you might,
invite me in.
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