When August winds are turning, the fishing boats set out upon the sea.I watch till they sail out of sight, the winter follows soon.I watch them drawn into the night beneath the August moon.No one knows I come here.Some things I don't share.I can't explain the reasons why it moves me close to tears.Or something in the seasons change will find me wandering here.And in my...In my public moments, I hear the things I say but they're not me.Perhaps I'll know before I die, admit that there's a reason why I count the boats returning to the sea.I count the boats returning to the sea.And in my private moments,I drop the mask that I'm wearing.I've been forced to errBut no one knows this secret meWhere I built unconsciouslyI count the boats returning from the seaI count the boats returning from the sea*
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