They call them rogues. They travel fast and alone. One hundred foot faces of God's good ocean gone wrong. What they call love is a risk, Cause you will always get hit out of nowhere by some wave And end up on your own. The hole in the hull defied the crew’s attempts, To bail us out. And flooded the engines and radio, And half buried bow. Your tongue is a rudder. It steers the whole ship. Sends your words past your lips Or keeps them safe behind your teeth. But the wrong words will strand you. Come off course while you sleep. Sweep your boat out to sea or dashed to bits on the reef.