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.
Some things I don't share.
I can't explain the reasons why it moves me close to tears.
Or something in the seasons change will find me wandering here.
And in my...
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 mask that I'm wearing.
I've been forced to err
But no one knows this secret me
Where I built unconsciously
I count the boats returning from the sea
I count the boats returning from the sea
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