Bound to sail these ugly seas and hear the seagulls call. Doomed to hear the rat-tat-tat of the quarter master's call. The salt wind blows, the slave boss crows making my skin crawl. As I row this cross of mine to the place of the skull.

Hour after hour, rowing on this worn out bench. My only crime to do this time was my own common sense. To deny the Son means freedom's won, but I can't deny His name. So I'm chained to this, my blood soaked fist, rowing 'til I am slain.