The hand that strikes is not awake,
And I'll be like my mother.
But all the times you took away
Well, I could be no other.
Far away a sea will roughly engage.
I sail like I've been waiting for the page;
But you don't know.
You're cold, your eyes are leading
And I'll be not decieving
And rip the blood,
The limbs from all you know;
I'm going home.
My home is in
The deep dark din,
The animals are rabid.
And I will sit among my friends
All fur and fright and frightened not.