Father Neptune

When my man goes to sea, he steps so high and free. I think I know as I watch him go that he has no need for me, for me. And when my man comes home and waits a while to roam, I think I see when he smiles at me that he's dreaming of the foam, the foam. I'm not a pious Christian and I do not go to mass, but I pray to Father Neptune to let him safely pass. I sing to the god with the three-pronged rod and the whiskers wild and free that I've got a man with a beard and a tan and a passion for the sea. He rides through the storm and the cold and the warm and he loves to risk his neck, and I like to know when he goes below that it's just below the deck. Oh, Neptune; Father Neptune! I tell you fair and true that if you should lose my sailor I'll sing no more to you. When he's home from sea he is half with me and he's gone when I close the door, and it's still his creed that he has no need of a wife except on shore. I know it's the boat that keeps him afloat, but I like to think it's me. And if it were not for this I would sink to the depths of the sea.