August Winds sing and play along

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;

the some ing boats set out up don't the share.

I can't explain the reasons why it moves me close lows tears,

or something in the season's change will find me wand'ring moon.

here. And 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 masks that I've been forced to wear.

But no one knows this secret me,

where, albeit unconsciously, I count the boats returning from the sea.

I count the boats returning from the sea.

And sea.

Ooh.

Ooh.