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5
4
3
2
1
(CjONR)
What divine intelligenc
e
rumbling from beneath
And in the whistle
a poor consumptive
wretch
And then you disappeared
of the wind
Your gambling arrears
the only thing you
The ocean shook
I could almost hear
left behind
And then the magistrate
Find him - Bind him
reclaimed our small estate
And my poor mother
That you should survive
The sky went black
Tie him to a pole and break
lost her mind
Then one day in spring
his fingers to splinters
My dear sweet mother died
But before she did
and the captain quailed
Drag him to a hole until he
I took her hand as she
dying - cried
wakes up naked
Find him
Bind him
