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THERE’S a light out there in the nearer east In the dawn of Nineteen Nine; There’s the old ghost light in the salty yeast Where the black rocks meet the brine. Here’s the same old strife and toil in vain— Here’s the same old hope and doubt— Here’s the same old useless care and pain— And the sea is my way out— My dear— The sea is my way out.
’Tis a grey and a sad old sea for me— |