Coming closer to the fire, He is racing with a flies Fire is near, bright to blind. Enemies are by his side, Sleeping ships buzz in their bights, There is nothing to decide, oh!
He knows that All ends bad, He knows that His bags packed
Plans and maps cover blackboard Ships are tired, ships so bored, Their wakeup will be so hard. Morning sun adores whole world, But he's still being ignored By his rays like the shining swords.
We know that The Earth is flat He knows that, His bags packed
Spiders crumble pale white skin, He recalls his sixteen. Sand in pockets, coats with pins, Loud screams, missed links, But bright fire is now within Moths and flies in crazy spin.