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As he stood upon the watch deck
Looking out onto the sea
It would offer no solutions
Only silent company

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