There’s a drawbridge open on the edge of the sea
As the ice cold mist is surrounding me;
I am caught in the currents so far from home
I ne’er thought that I would sail alone
I spy in the distance an ominous craft
And maneuver my sails to catch the draft.
I approach the intruder with the wind at my back
With my breech-gun loaded I make my attack
With a splinter of timber our ships collide
And we’re carried to the bottom by our weight of pride.
My gun lies ready in my cold, dead hand
As our precious cargo makes its grave in the sand.