Bleu marine et blues marin

There are dreams that never leave the dream box,
A bit like rusty freighters
That stay stranded at the end of a dock.
I dreamed of sailing to the Southern Cross,
Of crossing off the coast of Bermuda,
And setting off when the wind picks up,
Taking the hurricane in my sail
And stealing the scents of girls at the stopover.
No time, no choice
Too bad for me......
And the sun that sets
Sails with a crimson reflection
Your navy blue eyes
And my ocean blues.
There are phrases we never wipe off our slate.
We all have an old manuscript
Of a book we never wrote.
I dreamed of opium nights with Rimbaud,
Of rum smuggling in Colombo,
Of junks and turquoise lagoons.
I wasn't Monfreid or Cendrars,
We didn't hang out in the same bars.
No choice, no time
And the end of the story...
And the sun that sets
Greets with a cuddly smile
Your navy blue eyes
And my ocean blues.
There are horizons that never change places.
We're moored at the port
And we forget to board.
I probably dreamed a bit too loud, a bit too far,
But it's the dream that holds us,
Need for hope, need for space.
I'll never know the legend
That gave the blues to the Irish Sea.
Time plays,
Too bad for us.
And the sun that sets
Colors with a bit of sorrow
Your navy blue eyes
And my ocean blues......
There are dreams that never leave the dream box.