I am on the line
and if on the line is in
then this where I am
A dram of spirit, a drop of wine
This product of mine
ripens and withers on the vine
until I choose to draw the line

I am Ishmail
His wish, his whale
To try is to fail, to fall but survive
afloat but alive
Adrift, deprived, in good company
Who is Queequeg to me?

He wakes, he turns, he flees
He yearns to sail forbidden seas
to please the itch, appease the urge
Savour the swell, ride the surge
Purge his hell, this poisoned well
turn and laugh at the point where he fell
Find final firm shell
A hermit crab with a tale to tell

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