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Lo an’ weep, for despair has set upon our sails.
Th’ deepest shades below th’ wine-red sea
Are cast upon our brow.
Th’ men of sorrows with their
Weathered faces before th’ wind,
Beneath th’ clouds blackened by th’ Furies rage,
Are on th’ watch for Leviathon’s breath
in th’ valley of th’ breaks.
Lo an’ weep, th’ ghastly Azrael
Penetrates oor night sweat dreams.
He leaves us drenched in oor deepest fears an’ regrets,
Calling us tae account.
He breathes down upon us with
His cold an’ silent death.
A foe tae us all, he comes at his whimsy
Tae deprive us of th’ dawn.
Lo their noisome breath,
Th’ beasts of th’ tempest storm,
Filling our consumptive lungs,
Sparing us th’ will tae speak of oor repentance.
Tred lightly, ‘ere yee challenge th’ she witch o’ th’ winds.
Take heed, take heed, she be upon thee
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