Текст пісні
Down by the docks of the old land
In the howling wind's familiar chime
Holding the line in his cold hands
Coming to moor for the very last time
He left these shores for a season
To conquer the waves that roared in his mind
The treacherous sea failed to reason
The current is strong, and every so often unkind
Undiscovery, the finding of nothing at all
Where are the angels that he knew?
Looking down a bottle of special brew
Moonshine, the nocturnal light
White spirit, tearing a hole through the night
Where are the angels that he knew?
Looking down a bottle of special brew
Moonshine, the nocturnal light
White spirit, tearing a hole through the night