I felt the iron wind my set face scourge
Hard at the bow of my ill-fated ship,
My matted hair, the sneer upon my lip
Showed well this night the waves would sound my dirge.
My ship broke up against the pounding surge
And soon my tattered sails this storm would strip,
And then, reluctantly, we both would slip
Beneath the waves then with the ocean merge.
Down, down I ride my oak craft far below
The roiling restless storm, the giant waves
Grasped by some strong and monstrous undertow
To be but one within a million graves,
To spend a portion of eternity
Deep, deep within the cruel and icy sea.