Bosun was singing about dead man’s chest Next moment he was carving the bullet from his chest Sailors were singing ah yo-ho Souls were shrinking ah yo-ho yo-ho
Rusted sabers were flying in the air Sparks were pouring from clashing of pairs Some of them will be dead in the end None of them will be breath in the end
Ginger bosun was drinking last bottle Rum from Rome was unique in that bottle Note in the glass was drowning in the sea He left the memory he left the key