Uploaded December 2019 | Updated September 2026, 1 hour ago

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In honor of Anne G. Wood, on the occasion of her 95th birthday.

. . . . . . .

[D]Who is the [Bm]gentleman that [G]sits by my [D]bed?
He says that he [A7]knows me so [D]well.
But I'm certain that [Bm]I've never [G]seen him be[D]fore,
Though somehow his [A7]face rings a [D]bell.

He's [G]showing me pictures and [D]telling me [D7]lies,
But there's [G]someplace that I'd rather be.[D] [A7]
So [D]I drift [Bm]away to the [G]sound of his [D]voice,
I want to go [A7]down to the [D]sea.


I wish that our Patrick would hurry back home.
He's been away such a long time.
For he had to go, stop Hitler, you know.
He's somewhere on the front line.

But I'll keep the flame burning bright in the hearth
While he fights to keep us all free.
He'll come back from the war, and buy a new car,
And he'll chauffeur me down to the sea.


I'll put on my best Sunday dress for the day,
Bright ribbons to tie up my hair,
And I'll wait by the gate for me mother to come.
All the longing is so hard to bear.

We'll build castles so high, that they'll reach to the sky;
And the ice cream will all be for free;
And we'll dance in the sand to an old-time brass band.
I want to go down to the sea.


Now I sit all alone at the end of the room,
And gaze out the window all day.
For I know that me father will be coming soon,
He promised to take me away.

And sometimes I cry over nothing at all,
Still nobody listens to me.
When I close my eyes, I can hear the gulls call.
I want to go down to the sea