• The morning fog rolls on in
    Your board is waxed down from nose to fin
    The roars before you
    the sea mist and morning dew
    before me the breaking dawn
    standing with my morning yawn
    My wet suit ready and dry
    urges rising high
    To ride the morning curls
    as the water turns and twirls
    gliding across the water as if in the sky
    out at the swells I lie
    Waiting for the perfect one
    before me, the rising sun
    To sit and do this everyday
    I sure do hope that I may