A black shape sits on a deck in a red glistening puddle
Sobbing and shaking, curled up in a huddle
The shape of a man amidst silence and slaughter
Clothes torn and drenched in blood and salt wate
"his fortune to dust, his fortune to dust!
His triumph in vain, his triumph in vain!
Riches to ashes! his tears lost in rain!"
A ship made of mist like quicksilver thread
This skeleton vessel sings songs for the dead
To take a deep breath and set his mind back in motion
He stumbles upright and fumbles to the prow
His eyes now closed to hear his dear ocean
He feels the world has altered somehow
Deafening silence, the ocean seems gone
Hardly a whisper nor notes of wind song
"his fortune to dust, his fortune to dust!
His triumph in vain, his triumph in vain!
Riches to ashes! his tears lost in rain!"
In a final attempt to end this bitter roam
He looks at the stars with their comforting glare
But the lights above that once guided him home
Scattered and shattered, are no longer there
Now dawning upon him like rays of the sun
His state and fate cannot be undone
The captain now trapped on this skeleton vessel
Adrift on the void in a black floating castle
Chained to a twilight and bound to his boat
Swearing his vengeance on others afloat
Lights at the end that have the world in their grip
He shall have his conquest
As death came through a phantom ship!
