Our ship is made out of darkness
It mocks the laws of physics
With hawsers and ropes and rigs, sails
It sails the waves of emptiness
On the decks a red crew, dark
Looks painted with blood
From amidst the capes, the purple hoods
Twinkle the dark, silvery eyes

And the oldest of us is Maltan Hiram
The [bad word]  he
Knows the secrets of Schwartzschild's rings
And neutron stars and cepheids
His secret routes we traverse
Like ghosts of space
We strike deep soon disappearing again
Sometimes even fear itself shrinks away from us

While others are resting for the day
 [bad word] sits alone and quiet
He remembers all of his years
And his sorrow, his loved one far away
Closes his lidless eyes
Opens [bad word] fist
And caresses a small white stone
And smiles quietly

And the oldest of us is Maltan Hiram
The [bad word]  he
Knows the secrets of Schwartzschild's rings
And neutron stars and cepheids
His secret routes we traverse
Like ghosts of space
We strike deep soon disappearing again
Sometimes even fear itself shrinks away from us