These treacherous seas, the dark grave of many a soul
Vessels have traversed your paths of mountains of water and fury
Barren sailors swinging rope, tie down the mast, steady the hull
Grasp the port and starboard side, eyes on the anchor, we approach the waters of hell
Rolling clouds scheme their demise, casting lightning and making the mountains into valleys
Tossing like tares from the wheat, these waters are grasping at the throats of anxious men skilled at the sea
But these waters take no captive, they take no ransom, there is no skill on this unstable blanket of depravity
The merciless waters of evil with a mouth seeking to devour whomever the victim, showing no partiality
None can grasp the wind by the throat and submit the waves to their own authority
We as sailors, all equals from captain to mate, must all bear the wind and the rain
The locker, the grave, the caskets of the sea awaits the souls who ventures alone
Who sail in vessels unfit for the storms merciless yoke of tyranny
"Grasp the hand of ye fellow sailor, take hold of the ancient mast ye band of battered men, brothers and sisters hold fast. Steady as she goes"
The call written by the pen held by calloused hands leathered by the white knuckled grip of theologians of former voyages
We sail along in this ship not made by human hands, wood not planed by a carpenter or a slave
Masts that are not held by rusty nails or an anchor forged by the iron of the earths furnace
"Come ye sailors of ancient nights, sail the seas of ancient foes and fearful plight
take hold of the anchor that reigns over the waves, join the crew of the ancient flight,"
This the placard over the ships door by the Captain of the helm
Wounds of His storm he bears as His pride, no storm from the ancient foe will ever again pierce His side
He is Captain and Mate, a friend to the crew and a brother in the same
He has sailed the eternal seas from one cleft to the other, no swell will swallow Him in the grave of its perpetual suffering
Shipwrecked in the flood of His own flesh, He closed each casket of the sea with His own death
So hope in here your servant Captain at the helm, He knows the kiss of death and the fear of the drowning
But fear not this storm you approach, He has already steered the ship through
He knows the future landing and the eternal shore awaiting you
Endure to the end you barren and wounded sailors
Fight the bitter cold and the bitter sting of death
Brace for the storm and sail you not alone
Ready yourself and ready the crew
You who are in this realm of chosen sailors
Fear not, your Captain is at the helm
