A Sailor's Wings کے بول

The breeze that used to wander through valleys and hills Became a wind on a sailor’s wings at troubled sea Here’s the dilemma now Do I pull these sails up? When do I cast the net? Should I turn the helm around? Cause we don’t, we don’t, we don’t have a map No lighthouse, no compass or forecast No, we don’t have a date to come back “8 meters to portside” says the man on the crow’s nest While the rookie adventurer longs for the seven seas Cause we don’t, we don’t, we don’t have a map No lighthouse, no compass or forecast No, we don’t have a date No we don’t, we don’t, we don’t have a lighthouse, compass or map This cruiser that we stand on is our only certainty