Memories bitter, in the floodings blood-red.
Their calling as lost as the freezing snow.
You cannot return, to the past you cannot go.
Isn't it a pity, that nobody gives a fuck until you are Dead.
The tides will call out on a moribund day.
The ocean softly wailing its tidings of black.
The Headman will rise and the axe will smack. (A head to roll today)
And the fools that knew you will weep hollow tears,
And you will turn, spit, and walk away.