No horizon is obscured by the clouds. 
Settlements make nary a sound. 
And there were black birds singing and fish floating on the sea. 
While the bells of the buoys all rang in harmony. 
Bury your treasure, burn your crops, 
Black water rising and it ain't gonna stop. 
The governor he been long gone, anchor dropped on his front lawn. 
Build a keep and dig a moat, the return of the 
Swollen Goat. 
Can you hear the fife and drums, barnacles barking at the sun. 
Ain't no chance, so don't you try, now everybody got to die. 
Bury your treasure, burn your crops, 
Black water rising and it ain't gonna stop. 
WE DO NOT 
DESIRE TRI
BUTES. WE 
DESIRE INF
ORMATION. 
WE SEEK TH
E WORM DRI
NK WHO HAS 
LATELY BET
RAYED HIS 
NATION Albatross on your neck and a hooker on the shore, 
Dog-men to the deck, there's a hooker on the 
IN THE WAK
E OF THE S
WOLLEN GOA
T Bury your treasure, burn your crops, 
Black water rising and it ain't gonna stop.