Heave ho farewell to the quay
Merry sailors sailors we
The horizon is our proscenium
Our dead will come to know the sea
Our cook is a wanted man
Thousand thalers for each hand
Our captain lost his good sense
Driven by a Lazarus' words
Have you not been told of Lazarus
He felt the icy grip
Brought back by a morphine drip
He told the captain this
Tragedy tragedy
Death has you fooled
No throne of bone
No terranean pool
No scythe no cowl
No skeleton
His greatest trophy is this myth
Every sailor salmon every carp
Will follow rivers to the source
Only the dead will know
The course
Do you want to know
Of the afterworld
