Running Wild. Soleil Royal. Zeneszám

1692, the 29th of May
Sir Tourville, the admiral, his fleet is on its way
He commands his ships to fight, they attack the British line
He must be caught in senseless pride, to him his honor's prime

His mighty flagship strong and brave, heading for the fight
It pets the British men to grave, cruising through the tide
The veil of night obscures the sea, the tables getting turned
Confusion rules, no chance to flee, his fleet is getting burned

Cannons speak the fatal words, the language of death
Wipes away too many men, takes away their breath

Heat and fire, burning pyre
Smoke and flames, a raging hell
Death and blood, the fatal rub
Blows away Soleil Royal

Their position's getting intricate, heading for Cherbourg
Desperately they dare their fate, they feel too much secured
Cannons fire round by round, the smell of acred smoke
Vibrating full from top to ground, shaken by its poke

Cannons speak the fatal words, the language of death
Wipes away too many men, takes away their breath

Heat and fire, burning pyre
Smoke and flames, a raging hell
Death and blood, the fatal rub
Blows away Soleil Royal

To Cape Barfleur they try to flee, the battle's raging hard
Balls of lead rushing the sea, hit the hull windward
The English-man hard on their trace, follow turn by turn
A heavy round, the coupe de grace, tearing up its stern

The powder in the storage room, litten by a spark
Bursting kegs, a giant boom, tear the decks apart
The blood spills of the scupper holes, the sea is turning red
No time to pray, no bell to toll, no burial for the dead

Cannons speak the fatal words, the language of death
Wipes away too many men, takes away their breath

Heat and fire, burning pyre
Smoke and flames, a raging hell
Death and blood, the fatal rub
Blows away Soleil Royal

Heat and fire, burning pyre
Smoke and flames, a raging hell
Death and blood, the fatal rub
Blows away Soleil Royal