Old sextant you don’t work well tonight too high sister Pole Star in the Orion sky at Borgopass I turn left... maybe right? think I’ll set my sail on the Wird wind this time! Lil’ abaft of the Sun at the bow o’ the Moon as far as the Pléiades or an upwind harpoon a place you shall find when there’s no road to hit sparks the water mill of Long John Silver’s Inn. De-la de-la dee dee HO! no wisdom I’m looking for! neither searching for the knowledge De-la de-la dee dee HO! just console my soul - Das Grenzevolk! - with a stout or an abbey ale where the rocky road falls! The Dutchman shouts “Aye, aye crew! Tides for the next bloody fly” they chantent “La Messe des Morts” tasting burgundy wine Elric “freond min” deal me Chaos’ cards in my hand it’s too hard to solve Lord’s riddle for this borderline man. Is there something to learn? All just rollin’ of dice? Ask who’ll press “apple/Q” on my Photoshop file! Dee-la Dee-la Dee-Dee HO! We’ll sing refrains no more! - Das Grenzevolk! - Yet Jig’s lilt reaches us across the cliffs Dee-la Dee-la Dee-Dee HO! To tell of Wandering Jew… when he’s tired of wandering but still proud o’ being Jew Dee-la Dee-la Dee-Dee HO! Well... just one more time at all so drink the sour cup of life in 1..2..3..4 draughts Dee-la Dee-la Dee-Dee HO! 'Till it’s empty go slow you may find the hidden sweet or you can always hope!