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.