Crossing over, the trudge begins
Through barren marsh and ceaseless winds
Mourn thy departed soul
Torn from your mortal coil
On this forsaken moor
May you find, among the thorns
That rugged ground you tread
Holds passage for the dead
About the fire, upon the fleet
Here is where those comforts leave me
Hold not dear all your sorrows
For they will only fan the flames
This night, this body will endure the torment
My God and Creator deems it worthy to receive
Heathen, avert your fickle eyes
Plead for an absent saviour's hand
Whether you'd a life of splendour or squalor
This mire will surely see it end
