The first silken whisper, as gentle waves kiss sandy shore,
Followed by the angry sea, its mission to destroy,
For the might of the ocean, it can never be denied,
So many seamen have discovered, with dented pride.

Yet in early morning sunrise and downing of the sun,
Still many of them put to sea, the tidal race to run,
The ocean with her awesome voice, she begs them to her side,
To the sea in droves they come, the tempest once more to ride.

Mighty waves are their bucking steeds, with manes of flashing white,
Looking down on them in awe, is the moons face pearly light,
Upon the gale the ship heaves and bounds; wind nor-western blows,
But she plods across the void, to a land where? No one knows.

On! On! She flies across the seas, her crew no longer there,
Her Captain a ghostly figure, with sightless eyes doth stare,
Toward a forgotten land of dreams, of his hopes and plans,
Onward sails the ghostly ship called the FLYING DUTCHMAN.