Go shoot the moon, the sun, the great divide
I believe there's a storm a brewin'
Nine crows at nine o clock nye
Dutch men on the mizzen mast
Six harpies are singing to the lee
I believe she's going down
I believe we're gonna die, die, die.
I believe there's a storm a brewin'
Nine crows at nine o clock nye
Dutch men on the mizzen mast
Six harpies are singing to the lee
I believe she's going down
I believe we're gonna die, die, die.