pound by pound upon a vessel so young and fragile cold and unsound Oh that once full of laughter has now become hostile; toiling and loitering, loitering at the margin of some outlandish cliff while memories-laden eerie fickle mind in haunting like an unforgettable driving tune of a doom'd artist's methodically woven riff but only after so many moons of trial acquainted has become the young fisherman with the turbulent sea as 'tis the sea's culture he now breathes be it a clean azure sky or a heavy cloudy one little is the difference when the haven is nigh as 'tis the instinct that drives the hungry lion to his wants for -- to earn is to labor and to learn is to suffer and to be fully adorned -- long may take the procession the prophet is cloth'd in tears & visions