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Let the rage build up, for it is worth. Let yourself vision, what lies beyond the mist. The beats of thunder may add to your sweat A heat to wipe away the chills of your spine.
Listen for the singing gold and, The smell of the sea will fade. With every wave that slaps your ship Let your lips widen with pride.
As you see your island, you will hear it, The hymns the sailors sang all along. The gold will continue to sing its symphony, So let it guide you path with ears not eyes.
But son the smiles don’t always stay, And they leave behind a wrinkle, The ancients had a saying, That may you carve upon your arm,
“Not every ship sails with the wind, Often the gold does not sing, The hunt may as sun will fade, For treasures might only on map must stay!”
The cries of rejoice will fill your ears, And be blinded you will by the shines you behold, But son you must forge to more than treasure, For the heaven counts your sails not gold.
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