Black boats, large mood, in my bag, nothing. Well as know nothing about the sea, will I ever reach the shore? Over the rough sea, through the wind, red moon. Death keeps a watch on me from the promised shore. Oh, such a long way to sail! And, oh, my non spirited boat, with water in the bottom, people... will they ? Death awaits me before I ever reach Europa. Distant and lonely.

Seven hearts
are the hearts I have.
But mine is not there among them.

In the rough sea's mother,
Where we sometimes ran into the wind,
seven girls with long hands
Drowned
and I can see them in my mirror.

I have sung my way through this journey
with my mouth with its seven hands
in mind.
I have lived my life in landscapes
that other men have owned.
And the secrets I wore at my throat,
unbeknownst to me, had come open.

In the rough sea's mother,
where my heart rises over its echoes,
and hope for a better life on the other side,
in the memory book of a star.
I sometimes ran into the wind.

Seven hearts
are the hearts that I have.
But mine is not there among them.