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The lighthouse lures the old dissenters,
Retired pirates, lonely painters,
Early morning jubilators,
Up to no good instigators;
All of them the strangest cases,
Worn out hands and weathered faces,
Sons of long forgotten races
That the darkest night embraces.
The lighthouse lures the weary soldier,
Deciding that the war was over,
Threw his rifle in the clover,
He passed over peaceful water;
Settled down in greener pastures,
Married some poor miner's daughter,
Through the tears, through the laughter,
He stayed restless ever after.
I can hear the siren singing
Somewhere on a lonely wind;
I can hear the song she whispers,
Calling my name.
