You have a misty lorn in your moss-green eyes, wait for me, my Rose Gray, as it's the King crab season in the wintry cruel Bering Sea. My promise of love I'll keep, and I'll bring you a sterling silver engagement ring adorned with thistle, my Scots-Irish gift from God's Highlands, as it's the King crab season in the wintry cruel Bering Sea. My soft, delicate Rose Gray, snow clouds gather, heavy with silver, and I dream a fisherman's vision, of the pallid moon of mourning, and the deep of the tossing waves, mariner's spirits in her keep, the cold, cold salt spray stinging my chapped lips, as