Tonight, tonight, the captain's dreams are bad, Amidst the sluts, the drifters and the thieves, he doesn't dream of landing any more.

Drowning in these tumblers, tumbles through these doors, swinging out to cold cement from sticky, ahrd tiled floors. This is the route we wander, girl, eery god damned day, so swallow hard and wipe them dreams away.

come to life.. again.

The stove and the cold killed th men and the dogs. The last glimse of sun then all the winter it's gone. Chained at the ankles, bound at the wrists, stuffed into mail-sacks and tossed into drifts.

The lunar eye is burning, boring through me, digging deep into my chest, into my head, into my days, into my sleep.
These dreams these days don't give me no peace.