Lay aboard, lads, the tide is a blade,
Cutting the dark where our brothers were laid;
Hoist the black sail to the wind’s hungry cry,
We chase down the dawn ‘neath a crimson-stained sky.
Steel in our fists, salt in our veins,
We burn through the night like a cannon’s bright chains;
For the Creed is a whisper that death cannot drown—
Strike, vanish, and leave only legend to drown.