The Care of the Sail (Futtock)

Lyrics

[Intro]

[Verse 1]
In the shipwright's workshop on Point Nemo's only dock,
where the air hangs heavy with linseed oil and salt,
at dawn, 5:30 AM, on a Tuesday in May 2014,
I found the four futtocks for our coracle.
Curved oak, heartwood strong against the rot,
steamed in the box John Harrison Smyth once described,
1793 to 1867, his words in the journal:
"The futtocks must be steamed and bent with care,
for they bear the ship's very soul against the sea."

[Chorus]
First futtock, I name you Eliza,
after the apprentice girl forgotten in the logs,
curving low to meet the keel at 48 degrees south.
Second, Thomas, like Bennett's letter from 1821,
holding the hide taut against the waves' pull.
Third, Devil's Elbow, with your hidden rune,
carved in 1820s fog, protecting us from swells.
Fourth, Nemo's Whisper, my own quiet joke,
bent by hand at 9°C, numb fingers on the grain.

[Verse 2]
I smooth you with the spokeshave, Eliza,
feeling the rough grain give way under pressure,
the smell of oak sap sharp in the chilly shed.
Thomas, you fit the joint with a mallet's tap,
echoing like gulls over the harbor at 6:00 AM.
Devil's Elbow, your curve hides the superstition,
a protective mark against the sea's indifferent rage.
Nemo's Whisper, you complete the frame,
four timbers bearing the coracle's fragile form.

[Bridge]
In the inlet, bobbing at high tide,
the coracle knows the way, futtocks firm,
no sails, just the push of current and oar,
but you, my named curves, you care for the journey.

[Verse 3]
We ate hardtack and smoked herring on a crate,
while the oil lamp flickered, casting shadows on your bends.
Forgotten boys, twelve years old, once steamed you,
their names lost like gaps in the guild records,
but I name you now, in this lonely yard,
where the sea air mixes with wood's damp heat.

[Outro]
Futtocks, you hold us above the water,
four named souls against the vast Pacific.