the sea, and all its sea-lings can devour 
 unwary souls who see them only kind; 
 we know the truth: each minute and each hour 
 is one more chance to seek what's lost, and find 

 but i am covered up, in salt and summer; 
 a habit only broken by the noon, 
 you sing to me from somewhere just off camera 
 a strange and yet familiar sort of tune 

 the undulations of the waves mean something: 
 that we are temporary, as is strife -- 
 we justify our actions by our nature, 
 but cancer, too's, a natural part of life -- 

   give me the strength to be the proper brave 
   and yield just like the soft part of the wave