We’ll be sailing with the high
morning tide,
When the ocean and the sky
open wide.

We will take whatever fate
has in store,
Even if we never make
it to shore.

Climb the mast and make it fast, old mate.
Tell me, where will you and I land?
Probably the mainland - but wait!
Maybe it’s my Blue Island.

Those who have too much to lose
turn around,
Do the reckoning and choose
solid ground.

As for us, with just the shirt
on our back,
We are glad to trade the port
for the deck.

When they say, "He’s gone around the bend",
You just smile and keep silent.
Some make do with any old land,
Others need their own island.

An old pirate said, "It’s all
in your head!
I’ll believe it when I see
it, me lad!"

Pirate, when the spirit’s weak,
eyes are blind.
I believe that if I seek,
I shall find!

Through the mist, the long awaited shore.
Rub the doubt from your eyelids.
What is it, the mainland once more?
Or is this my Blue Island?