I watched the black swells grow from the prow
And the stars hung above us in the black blanket of night
I closed my eyes and on the lids
Visions of blood and light

I killed my man on a lonely night
And still hear his voice on the wind
With a rush of scent from an olive bow
Sent from the land, so dim

Not with my hands so soft and fair
Not with an arrow or bow
But with the black, blunt blade he gave me
Did i let his blood flow