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| Sailors Don't Know How To Cry © Copyright George Papavgeris, August 2002 No matter how quiet or insignificant in appearance, we all have value to give; we just need to be asked. Sitting alone in the corner Propping the bar every night White hair down to his shoulders, Drawn in a pony tail tight Fingers like pieces of driftwood Nose that's seen many a fight. Hand round a battered old tankard Like leather his skin from the brine Face full of cracks like a desert Thin lips the only straight line But under thick matted eyebrows Eyes that have not lost their shine Time there was, he's sure to tell you When places he'd been far and wide Many the storms that he weathered Many the oceans he plied Many the women who loved him Many the friends at his side. There was a time in Seattle When he nearly stayed there for keeps But decided that he could not settle Just for some ruby red lips Fourty years since he last saw her Yet the longing still inside him sleeps. As the place fills, he makes for the exit He never was one for the crowd He stumbles, but don't try to help him He may not be young, but he's proud. Slowly he shuffles his way through His duffle coat more like a shroud. You know where to find him tomorrow He spends afternoons on the quay Don't pity him sitting alone there For lonely he will never be He still sees those lips in Seattle He still hears the call of the sea. CHORUS Give him your time and he'll give you his story Of days and adventures gone by The glint in his eye not a tear but a memory The heave of his chest just a sigh For old sailors don't know how to cry. |
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George's CDs are manufactured by Bump Studios
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