Oh to strand line and the sands
When the gale from the southwest
Blows for the tree days
Oh what’s the rolling form
Who’s gives the brings on my home

Oh For the Wrecking Days Atlantic castaways, plastic and stone
Oh For the Wrecking Days Atlantic castaways, cuttlefish bones

There lights a daily archive
Beach comes a Paradise
Waiting a blow tide
Impatience when sea is high
And wasted blow tide
painting the coast line

Oh For the Wrecking Days Atlantic castaways, plastic and stone
Oh For the Wrecking Days Atlantic castaways, cuttlefish bones

Finds me a wash-up storie
In a plastic bottle talk
Round tankle fishing tackle
At the sailor’s for a gone

Oh For the Wrecking Days Atlantic castaways, plastic and stone
Oh For the Wrecking Days Atlantic castaways, cuttlefish bones

Land delisted it of other white
Ships of distance every night
Take care for thoushands too times
Humble for fish a Jenan bites

Oh For the Wrecking Days Atlantic castaways, plastic and stone
Oh For the Wrecking Days Atlantic castaways, cuttlefish bones

Oh to the strand line
I send a message to the Baltic Sea
To be found by sea faryman
And the line of his face for every hight tide is ever seem

Oh For the Wrecking Days Atlantic castaways, plastic and stone
Oh For the Wrecking Days Atlantic castaways, cuttlefish bones