Deeds I've made, I know them well
But well enough for them to show?
Everyone's listening, everyone's talking
But they've laughed their final crow
Draws in the open and out in the sea
Glorious and sporadic, how I plea
Spontaneously wanting the free
Into that water is re-borne, the Selkie
Ships upturn as seals are shaved
Murdered, savages! they can't take you!
Rainstorms come, they pass and go
He pines, he dies, he goes too slow
Walking faster as he grows senile
The grave right before his feet
His children, they're dead, as well as himself
But never again will she meet
Someone so using and utterly cruel
Stealing the fortune she called her own
This shorn skin, you, is no treasury
Much more the reverie or a tome
