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I fill with wine every cask completely,
I pull the sails and I spread them wide.
The mind is blank, the goodbye is fleetly,
The dawn is here, the sky is bright.
From dawn to sunset my path is trailing,
And at the sunset the spring's afoot.
As long as frigate is good for sailing
the life of pirate is very good.
The torrid Orient has a crusted hue,
sabers somewhere strum.
But you, Maria, don't cry, I ask of you.
Time has not yet to come.
I'll get through tempest, the frays I'll outlast
being exhausted sometimes.
There is for certain one thing I can't get passed,
It's the tears in your eyes.
But time has not yet to come...
Some people are betweentimes alluding:
I'm not a pirate, for realzies not.
Yes, I do not live on the blood and looting
and they apparently hit the spot.
I rather could entertain the grandees,
to herd the flock and do not exert...
But to inflict on another man death,
Can't be, God forbid me to hurt.
Thalassic fog is as harsh as ruthless crew,
and as white as a whey.
But you, Maria, don't cry, I ask of you.
Death is still far away.
It's not eternity, no one has to flee,
sit, be still, persevere.
Don't trust a passerby overhastily,
Things will happen, my dear.
Yes, death is still far away...
And if homecoming is doomed for failing,
and darkness widens with no confine.
As long as frigate is fine for sailing
the life of pirate is very fine.
The ocean gives everyone cold shoulder,
to me, to sailors, to shipping lane.
But I won't perish, as long as smolder
the fires of love in the fog of pain.
And I envision the flaming blaze ensue
and envelop the sea.
But you, Maria, don't cry, I ask of you,
it's entreaty of me
the first, but also there is the second:
when all your life is behind
do tell the reverend in last reckon
that I am still on your mind...
Things will happen, my dear...
Death is still far away...
Don't cry!..