Ferryman on the water,
Sliding his oar silent,
In the river Styx,
And is it quiet,

The thinnest line of ripple,
Seen by the thinnest eye,
Could tell where he went,
Where none dared try,

Upon the Styx,
Only one man could pass,
The ferryman alone can pierce
This surface of glass,

The land of the dead,
Two souls await,
Two lives of long past,
Both paid one gold, the ferry’s rate.
Both sailed straight,
Both would last.

After so long,
The fog was gone.

Clear.