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A Salty Dog - Live, Wplj, New York City, 12 April 1971

de Procol Harum

All hands on deck, we've run afloat! I heard the captain cry
Explore the ship, replace the cook: Let no one leave alive!
Across the straits, around the Horn: How far can sailors fly?
A twisted path, our tortured course, and no one left alive

We sailed for parts unknown to man, where ships come home to die
No lofty peak, nor fortress bold, could match our captain's eye
Upon the seventh seasick day we made our port of call
A sand so white, and sea so blue, no mortal place at all

We fired the gun, and burnt the mast, and rowed from ship to shore
The captain cried, we sailors wept: Our tears were tears of joy
Now many moons and many Junes have passed since we made land
A salty dog, this seaman's log: Your witness my own hand

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