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Have you stood by the ocean on a diamond-hard morning,
And felt the horizon stir deep in your soul;
Watched the wake of a steamer as it cut through blue water,
And been gripped by a fever you just can't control?
Oh, to throw off the shackles and fly with the seagulls,
To where green waves tumble before a driving sea wind;
Or, to lie on the decking on a warm summer's evening,
Watch the red sun fall, burning, beneath the earth's rim
But to every sailor comes time to drop anchor,
Haul in the sails, and make the lines fast;
You deep water dreamer, your journey is over,
You're safe in the harbour at last;
You're safe in the harbour at last.
Some men are sailors, but most are just dreamers,
Held fast by the anchors they forge in their minds,
Who in their hearts know they'll never sail over deep water,
To search for a treasure they're afraid they won't find.
So, in sheltered harbours they cling to their anchors,
Bank down their boilers and shut down their steam;
And wait for the sailors to return with bright treasures,
That will fan the dull embers and fire up their dreams.
But to every sailor comes time to drop anchor,
Haul in the sails and make the lines fast;
You deep water dreamer, your journey is over,
You're safe in the harbour at last;
You're safe in the harbour at last.
And some men are schemers who laugh at the dreamers,
Take the gold from the sailors and turn it to dross;
They're men in a prison, they're men without vision,
Whose only horizon is profit and loss.
So when storm clouds come sailing across your blue ocean,
Hold fast to your dreaming for all that you're worth;
For as long as there's dreamers, there will always be sailors,
Bringing back their bright treasures from the corners of earth.
Note: Commemorating the death of Stan Rogers (1949-1983).
