Casey's Concertina

There are lights a-flashing in the harbour from the ships at anchor where they ride, And a dry wind going through the palm-trees and the long-low murmur of the tide … And there's noise and laughter in the foc's'le, and the bare feet beating out the tune To the sound of Casey's concertina underneath the great gold moon - Creaky old leaky concertina underneath the great gold moon. There's a milky glimmer on the water, and the lonely glitter of the stars, And a light breeze blowing up the roadstead, and a voice a-sighing in the spars, A-sighing, crying in the backstays, and the furled sails sleeping overhead, And the sound of Casey's concertina, singing of a time that's fled - Leaky old creaky concertina singing of a dream that's dead.