Often, there’s a ship in the distance.
With black sails, and a fainted dark paint,
With trims in red.

And, late at night, when I close my eyes,
I can see the captain,
And as soon as I see his face,
It’s gone.

But always lurking
There in the back of my head.

And there is naught, no doubt in my bones

He is the Minister of Sin.