Past the shore beyond the billows
I hear the cry of weeping willows
Engulfed in the waves the bloodshed craves waiting to be filled the open graves.
A steady flux of brine in the cuts and the current taking them by the foot.
The tide awaits for all to go
But we hold on with just shriveled hope.
Some give up, some hold deep,
Some lay their lives down as offerings
But no matter how big the wave
And no matter how strong the tide.
Always fight towards the offing
