In heart of June's great summer's breath
She lies bleeding by the dunes
She gently touches the wild red rose
He gave her before death.

His eyes soon rubbed with sorrows
That cast from darkened skies
A stormy wind keeps howling
Within a heart of ice.

White mists will veil his courses
Wherever he may roam
On darker trails he'll travel
Within a heart of stone.

He bears a cold wet burden
Towards the ports of pain.
The brides on bay stop singing
The gipsy calls the rain.

“A curse has been cast on this vessel”
The sailor speaks in his warm ale.
The doors of the inns are closed
For those who stray in the gale.

Seven waves of the cold black waters
He drank as he drifted with tide.
Seven gates of the Halls of the Mermaids
He passed through the doors open wide.

Seven glasses of Whisky he spent on
The wind, the storm and the rain
Seven pearls he gambled at daybreak
Sure of the great treasures he'll gain.

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