O Maria,
Through the misted fog
Indeed I come.
Shrouded by the wretched smell
Of twenty shipmates
Lying, dying,
Beating, hating,
Praying it's not too late, Maria!
Tho the eyes of the world
Will not see thine beauty
And a thousand men
Cannot save thine soul
On the waves against the storming tide
Thou will watch as I return!