Out on the horizon, beneath the sinking sun, It rolls In,

They all come to watch, they come to ride the wild surf.

For the true surfer, It comes from within, at one with the wave,

Shooting the tube, living on the edge, free to glide across the water.

From Australia, the split, surfers’ paradise, they battle the rolling storm,

To Hawaii, Waimea Bay, North Shore, Pipeline, or Hanalei Bay, the wave.

Above the wave where dreams’ are made, surf the open waterway,

Around the world beyond the shores of Peru to New Zealand, ride.

Above the wave, beneath the wide open sky, forever ride,

Touch the water and listen to the sound of the crashing waves.

Keith Garrett


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