One two three hundred of Iceland's sailors.
Leaning on the finance from our big servant
Departure had little fan-fare
But what did they care
A summer’s Blinding heat
A ship loaded packed with wheat
As Night’s grasp grew.
Our maps battery did too.
Leaving tonight.
I kissed my wife.
Across the sky ten times.
The sun blazed our horizon’s on the same side.
Food getting lighter, our bellies yearning for dinner
Mutiny, mutiny, mutiny.
I wasn’t going to differ.
Two days later. Our top man, who saved the evenings with good chatter.
Gave our crew the word.
Land **, you ***** rappers.
Looking across the sea, putting our withering hands above our knees.
My eyes glistened, had we come to Griffen.
Our final steps, until our land, was pushing forward and backward.
Onboard the land, our sea legs, outstretched our hands.
Aliens, and sailors, leaving together.
What are they saying
New food to chew.
Gave the crew a push to rearrange our mast
Setting sail back to our past.
The cheers were loud, and we are all proud.
As each one of us was the sailor that lead a mutiny crowd.
