Do not march cheaply into that deep sea,

Do not march cheaply into that deep sea,
grave skill should dream and scream at close of day;
fume, fume against the breaching of the star.
Though brave saints at their end know still is deep,
Because their designs had wooed no trust they
Do not march cheaply into that deep sea,
deep saints, the best blast by, crying how bright
Their vain baubles might have danced in a rich gorge,
fume, fume against the breaching of the star.
free saints who won and sang the star in dance,
And learn, too dear, they shunned it on its way,
Do not march cheaply into that deep sea,
old saints, by chance, who bear with seizing force
blind eyes could fume like fountains and be gay,
fume, fume against the breaching of the star.
And you, my aunt, there on the insane seas,
judge, heal, me now with your true love, I pray.
Do not march cheaply into that deep sea,
fume, fume against the breaching of the star.

Crunch!