The engine's hum has died away, a silence soft and deep,

The canvas hangs like woven ghosts upon the wings of sleep.

The compass needle wavers, there's no North Star to be found,

Just the gentle creak of timber and the darkness all around.

We've been drifting for an age, or maybe just an hour,

Staring at the endless black, feeling its quiet power.

No wind to fill our lungs with life, no current we can feel,

Just the doubt if any of this ocean here is

But then we see the flashing lights, a beacon on the edge,

A silent, urgent conversation on the water's ledge.

Flashing lights, a mystery, a rhythm in the gloom,

A promise of a harbor or the whisper of a tomb.

Flashing lights, they pull us in, across the staring sea,

A code that someone's out there, and they're trying to reach me.

They don't illuminate the waves, they don't reveal the shore,

They just appear and disappear, forever wanting more.