The Brass Disc at the Helm (Sextant)

Lyrics

[Intro]

[Verse 1]
Here on the deck of this coracle, bobbing at Point Nemo,
forty-eight degrees south, one hundred twenty-three west,
I hold the brass sextant, polished arc catching the noon sun.
John Hadley built its ancestor in seventeen thirty-one,
his reflecting quadrant, arcs of ivory and wood,
but this one, heavier, one point five kilograms,
telescope fixed, vernier scale clicking under my thumb.

[Chorus]
Sol invictus, I whisper to the unconquered sun,
before I shoot it, align the horizon mirror,
bring the star down to kiss the sea line.
Sextant orienteering, the most obscure sport,
on the most remote point, you can't get lonelier.
Thomas Godfrey raced Hadley across the Atlantic,
December seventeen oh four to forty-nine,
but here, it's just me, the chronometer ticking in its mahogany box.

[Verse 2]
Nautical almanac open on the oak table below deck,
pages yellowed, margins scribbled with positions:
sun at zenith, midday exact, twenty-eight degrees Celsius,
salt air sharp, mixed with warm metal under my nose.
I adjust for the dip, the refraction bend,
calculate latitude from the endless blue,
no land in sight, just waves lapping the hull.

[Bridge]
The creak of wood, the click of brass,
echoes of captains' logs from HMS Endeavour,
seventeen sixty-eight, James Cook's hand noting stars.
But on Point Nemo, we add our rule,
Latin phrase to honor the light,
sol invictus, before the measurement bites.

[Verse 3]
Dried hardtack in my pocket, crumbly against the tin,
fuel for hours under this relentless sky.
Godfrey died young, forty-five, in Philadelphia chill,
but his instrument sails on, in my grip,
finding position where no one else would.

[Outro]
The sun dips, calculation done,
we're exactly nowhere, and that's the win.