It's frothy puppet hands, send my love to the depths, never to resurface again. The ship went down in 1902, two little girls & the first born son. The storm was ahead, hadn't even reached my bed. When I heard their screams from the lower deck. I grasp for grains of sand, I'll walk the plank in the morning. A father shouldn't lose all his kids at once, the world should be mourning. These wooden planks became my home, I'll sleep in the mast until God takes me home. Waves took my love, and sunk my soul in a treasure chest.