If my God would work His magic,
turn the tide on truth too tragic.
I’d cross the separating sea
to find the girl who once loved me.
But true love’s torrents have run dry,
and sailing ‘neath this savage sky
is hopeless; traitors tore to pieces
our love, (those wolves with sheepish fleeces.)
With cruel assassins’ bitter blade,
they bled us, watched our feelings fade.
Then glide, among the graveyards grieving.
Bitter and broken, barely breathing.
They wiped me from my sweetheart\'s mind,
my memory, to dust did grind.
(Portrayed as a pariah, pleading,
they said I begged like Caesar bleeding)
If my God would work His magic,
turn the tide on truth too tragic.
I’d cross the separating sea
to find the girl who once loved me!