For Gerald Ludwick 1946-2014
Electronica, New Age, Smooth Jazz and some Classical.
Hard to place my music in one category.
It is a mixture of Electronica, New Age, Smooth Jazz and even some Classical.
Story behind the song
This song first of all is dedicated to my brother who passed away a few months ago. But it also concerns my sense of loss of my small family over the past few years; first my mother and now my brother. That is all … my father died when I was a small child. They both declined quickly enough but I had sufficient time to experience the passage and to ease their way. It is a lonely task that has fallen to many others and this last rite of passage suggested my ‘sea pilot’ image as my role in the song. I have an aunt who is 95 years old and we have commiserated in our mutual positions as those who turn out the lights and lock up the doors. There is no more to do but be resolved to what has been our fate.
Lyrics
The water’s dark, but the Moon lays a path
Tonight as I sit on the edge of the sea.
My heart is strong, but I still feel the pain.
On the wind is a voice that whispers to me.
The crash of a wave, a sea bird’s call,
I look for a sign that you might give.
Though I know that you sleep on the ocean’s floor,
I still dream that you walk, I dream that you live.
Why have I left the port of my dreams?
Why have I walked like a ghost in the night?
Why to the heart of the timeless, cold sea?
Why as a part of this ancient, sad rite?
I remember your laugh, how it lit up your eyes,
How it warmed the cold harbor eve.
And the stories you’d tell to pass the slow time
Of last summer’s days turned to brittle dry leaves.
Why do I leave the port of my dreams?
Why do I walk like a ghost in the night?
Why to the heart of the timeless, cold sea?
Why am I part of this ancient, sad rite?
The lights of the harbor are burning as bright,
The laughter still rings from the shore.
The taverns are full of many strange tales,
But I have no wish to hear any more.
The roads are worn flat from a million lost feet
Like dead seeds that will never be sown.
I return to a home where the hearth has grown cold
To a supper I’ll eat on my own.
I wish to leave the port of my dreams,
To leave like a ghost in the night.
I’ll head to heart of the timeless, cold sea.
Take up the task that’s been given to me.
I’m the sea pilot of this ancient, sad rite.
The pilot of this ancient, sad rite.
Sometimes the hardest, loneliest thing is being a survivor. Tribute beautifully done Larry, I hope the spirit heals eventually