Diary of a fisherman

Описание: The cold cuts in before the light
My fingers stiff, my knuckles white
The dock was quiet, the sky hung low
I packed the nets, moved soft and slow

The sea don’t care how tired I am
She waits beneath with a patient plan
I light a smoke, the silence grows
I Chase the tide, when the cold wind blows.

I’ve buried friends beneath her tide
And cursed her name with tears I hide
But still I rise with aching back
The salt keeps calling me back

The sea don’t sing, she only moans
She grinds us down to blood and bones
From Läjet’s shore to Varberg’s quay
She takes our youth, then turns away
The salt it burns, the cold it stays
We trade our names for wind and waves
No songs of gold, no tales of fame
Just aching hands and forgotten names

The nets came up with weeds and rust
No silver flash, no catch to trust
The compass spins, the motor groans
We sail through fog and aching bones
Varberg’s lights blink through the haze
Like ghosts that haunt the better days
We dock, we sell, we drink, we lie
Then patch the hull and say goodbye

I see their faces in the foam
The sea, she calls them, ever home
Their names still echo through the black
The tide won’t trade, won’t give ’em back.

The sea don’t sing, she only moans
She grinds us down to blood and bones
From Läjet’s shore to Varberg’s quay
She takes our youth, then turns away
The salt it burns, the cold it stays
We trade our names for wind and waves
No songs of gold, no tales of fame
Just aching hands and forgotten name

I’ve made my peace with what she takes
The sea forgives, but never breaks
My bones may crack, my spirit slack
But still I rise and don’t look back.

The sea don’t sing, she only moans
She grinds us down to blood and bones
From Läjet’s shore to Varberg’s quay
She takes our youth, then turns away
The salt it burns, the cold it stays
We trade our names for wind and waves
No songs of gold, no tales of fame
Tomorrow’s tide will call my name.