The moon is high.
We sail to chance
- our lives entwined,
We dance, we dance.
The wind is brisk,
to port we go.
The Admiral’s call
- Heave-ho, heave-ho!
The straight’s ahead.
A path before.
The sirens call
- Implore, implore.
A lighthouse nears
Cutting the night
Dock or floor
We fight, we fight!
The moon is high
We took our chance.
Let fate decide
our circumstance.
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