| What breath it takes the tide
|
| Is it from your sunken hollow lungs
|
| That the bones may gather at the depths
|
| An organ for the ghastly of songs
|
| A vessel for the damned adrift on a sunless sea
|
| On a sunless sea
|
| Whisper on white tongues of foam
|
| To me of days I’ve lost to the dreadful night
|
| And the heart of darkness that draws its children so tight
|
| And sets them adrift
|
| Haggard and bent crows keen to the crone
|
| What do the drowned say?
|
| Who man our ships as ghosts
|
| And bend our knees to pray
|
| For a silent and a watery, a watery grave
|
| We bend our knees to pray
|
| What breath it takes the tide
|
| Is it sunken from your hollow lungs
|
| That the bones may gather
|
| At the depths down below
|
| An organ for the ghastly of songs
|
| A vessel for the damned
|
| Every pilgrim to the depths
|
| Follows a
|
| To meet the masters below
|
| Hollowed by time
|
| Wild horses unbound on white foam
|
| We bend our knees to pray
|
| For silent and watery grave |