set your compass

underneath a sailing moon

lemon lime ginger soft glow

scale the woodland around the dale

rising falling through hedgerows

with her train the queen of night

slowly turning the tide

from the long arms of the sea

set your compass by your dream

grazing sheep have lost their way

fifty fathoms below the bay

windward of the sunken rock

faces set like gravestones

oarsmen pull to cleave the brine

neath the blackcliffs their cross-bones

under the waves and put to right

toy armies too rusty to fight

cling to the wheel how deeply you breathe

set your compass by your dream

grazing sheep have lost their way

fifty fathoms below the bay