| Just like secrets, twisted alibis, for empty graves, | |
| Unlike manors, cut and burned, a thousand times | |
| Not like ours, coiled in coffins, weeping echoes, | |
| Weeping echoes | |
| Not by statues, golden monuments, war houses of worship | |
| Unlike manors, where the great white sails, torn to shreds, No! | |
| Not by promises, hungry shadows, in cold dark alleys, | |
| These rocky shores, are crafted, by the pulse of the sail, | |
| Ahh, by the pulse of the sail! | |
| And here I go on... |
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