[bad word] closer to the fire,
He is racing with a flies
Fire is near, bright to blind.
Enemies are by his side,
Sleeping ships buzz in their bights,
There is nothing to decide, oh!

He knows that
All ends bad,
He knows that
His bags packed

Plans and maps cover blackboard
Ships are tired, ships so bored,
Their wakeup will be so hard.
Morning sun adores whole world,
But he's still being ignored
By his rays like the shining swords.

We know that
The Earth is flat
He knows that, 
His bags packed

Spiders [bad word] pale white skin,
He recalls his sixteen.
Sand in pockets, coats with pins,
Loud screams, missed links,
But bright fire is now within
Moths and flies in crazy spin.