I am the captain of my soul, I strike a pose so dashing
Then slip upon my hubris and into the waves go splashing.
As soon as I get back on board, and dry my hair and pride
I’ll check my charts and compass too, and once again decide.
I am the captain of my soul, though she can be capricious,
her gait is like a bucking bronc with streaks of downright vicious.
I’ve tried to reason with her but she finds me rather droll
because I wear my captain’s hat and think I’m in control.
I am so the captain of my soul. Not you, darn soul, but me
And I’m going to hold my breath until I’m blue or you agree.
But she just laughs and sends a gull to poop upon my hat
That’s not why it’s called a poop deck, I tell the flying rat.
I am the captain of my soul I whine and stamp my feet
Till finally she humours me and gives me back my fleet
And I don’t know how long this time she’ll let me pose and strut
Before she finds it funny and she dumps me on my butt
I am the captain of my soul, I whisper from the bowsprit.
I am the captain of my soul, as long as she allows it.