I began writing this while sitting at Ocean Beach in San Francisco; naturally there was a stiff breeze coming in from the sea. While I noodled on the guitar, I noticed the gulls seemed to be fighting the wind to get back down to the ocean. They wind was winning.
Turning into the wind, like a restless gull
Trying to beat my way, back down to the sea
Eventually, all that's here will not remain
Unbroken by, the endless strain
Of an uncaring Sea - which pounds on tirelessly
It chips away. It chips away at me.
When our time is up, will we all wash away?
Or will a piece remain in some tangible way.
Persisting as the days roll on.
All that I wanna be, is able to find my way
down to a better place
To a warm embrace. Leave behind the endless strain,
Unspoken pride, what then will remain
But an uncaring sea - which pounds on tirelessly.
It chips away, it chips away at me.