Tragic corpses,
Memories of yore,
Withered float
Upon swelled brine;

Limbs regress
By night to my shore
And by morn
Few ribbons of flesh

Far many of them
(Which shalt never take place)
Stranded last night
Idle, lapsed and inert

Now cometh recollecting
The scraps of this gore
Take sail to high seas
With a mast and the winds.