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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.