Heave ho, farewell to the quay! Merry sailors, sailors we!   The horizon is our proscenium! Our dead will come to know the sea   Our cook is a wanted man, 1000 thalers for each hand   Our captain lost his good sense, driven by a Lazarus' words      Have you not been told of Lazarus? He felt the icy grip   Brought back by a morphine drip, he told the captain this:      Tragedy, tragedy! Death has you fooled!   No throne of bone, no terranean pool!   No scythe, no cowl, no skeleton   His greatest trophy is this myth   Every sailor, salmon, every carp will follow rivers to the source   Only the dead will know the course, and furthermore...   Do you really want to know of the afterworld?