Rain falls when it wants to,
Like the wind that fills our sail.
I recall the tears on her face,
When we said our farewells.
Her memory's like a dagger,
The blade, cold and sharp.
All the nights I walked these decks,
With a lonely aching heart.
Tomorrow we'll return to port;
This cruise is finally over.
She'll be standing on the pier,
Waiting for me to hold her.
– Michael Aye