At the rough sea we are ready
to sacrifice themselves and get lost,
By God’s will the boat is unsteady,
to the port of heaven chooses course.
Sudden screech and groans appear
like tired, old boat tails,
freezing blood, raising fear
and wind stiffen and wails.
Treacherous rasp of cracked bulkhead
and young hearts pierces the thrill.
Stick to the boat and dream you’re in bed
and drift to the heaven we will.
In the wind our souls like sails,
like boats at the sea our hearts passes by.
No history cards the wind erase,
although in berths like in deathbed we lie.
Short our life but we’ve no choice.
Has our time already come?
Whether somebody hear our voice?
Grave in Carmita’s not our plan!