When comes the bitter end,
no hope left in sight,
to death I must attend,
my blood flows hot with spite.
The chosen one is still unclear,
there's no need to pretend,
one would ever shed a tear,
if to hell the bitch I sent.
And what of our poor captain,
trembling there with fear,
alas, his days are numbered too,
t'was he who put us here.
