| Your boat is called Apocalypse
|
| Dip a sail
|
| Those who regulate the head
|
| Bite their tail, bite their tail
|
| Maps are lost in hurricane of regress
|
| Your clothes are frazzled, still you navigate
|
| With having your crew oppressed
|
| Pour some wine into your throat
|
| Stuff your guts a little more
|
| While your avarice accumulates
|
| The poor multiply hundredfold
|
| Your ship is called Capitalism
|
| Anchor down
|
| It runs for dear life on the wind of corruption
|
| Defective compass serves to your purpose
|
| But soon as sweat of sailors dries
|
| You’ll hit the bottom and go ashore
|
| Pour some wine into your throat
|
| Stuff your guts a little more
|
| While your avarice accumulates
|
| The poor multiply hundredfold
|
| Make these oars never row
|
| Dip a sail
|
| Strike the masts, end the boat
|
| To the sand
|
| Make these oars never row
|
| Dip a sail
|
| Strike the masts, end the boat
|
| To the sand |