Catching a star, rushing forward the frigate,
Through the storm ahead, the bowsprit of his high,
But ahead all the same abyss without borders,
The desert of black waters in silence of latitudes.

Cracks and groans bom-topgallant topmast,
Chiseling strong ezelgof,
Mars and Ray converged with parrel in battle,
With a dream - to get rid of the shackles.

The wave growls, rolling terribly,
And with the power of the wind jib-boom mast on the beats,
And a low, menacing sound of the cello,
It is suddenly heard from the blackening heights,

That drill groans together with a heavy wind,
The key of the forgotten Symphony are trying to find,
And torn violin strings - moaning times through the centuries,
And killed the brave men among depths.

The thunder storm is rushing with noise, howling,
Shaking stars in heavens,
And the thunder echoes it a disparate,
And the frigate is hurtling on the sails.