| Pulling the weight up against the wind
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| The plight of the galley slave
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| Chained to this cold bench, six to the oar
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| Sentenced to an early grave
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| With iron in our souls and fire in our wrists
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| Slicing the waves and the sea
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| Rotting below, they’ll not let us go
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| Only mutiny or death set us free
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| Arms grow numb and the blood doth drip
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| To the beat of the drum, from the crack of the whip
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| We’re damned, to the Galley
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| We’re chained, to the Galley of pain
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| Damned, to the Galley
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| We’re slaves, chained to the Galley of pain
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| «The salt made the oar handles like shark skin
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| And our lips we’re cut to the gums
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| And you whipped us because we could not row
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| Will you never let us go?»
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| Splintered and split, the hands of the doomed
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| Endlessly toil by the hour
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| Bodies broken, shackled with hatred
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| As the soul grows sour
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| Off in the distance, the cry of the gulls
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| And the smell of approaching land
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| With our last ounce of strength, we pull to the shore
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| And dream to escape if we can
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| But Sirens attack, with their songs of love
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| Mermaids surround us as off we shove
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| Our arms still numb and the blood still drips
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| To the beat of the drum, from the crack of the whip
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| Damned, to the Galley
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| We’re chained, to the Galley of pain
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| Damned, to the Galley
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| We’re slaves, chained to the Galley of pain
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| We’re rotting in the Galley hole
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| Damned, to the Galley
|
| We’re chained, to the Galley of pain
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| We’re damned, to the Galley
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| We’re slaves, chained to the Galley of pain
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| Only death will set us free… |