Scorching sun, madness is growing near
Alone, desperate, he tries to survive
Death he left behind, the great war he escaped
But little did he know that even worse was luring ahead

Dagon!

Suddenly black shores surrounded him
Fortune oh fortune
But he knew at once that the stench of rotten fish would linger in his ,memories forever

Then he feels a foolish pride
Thinks he discovered an ancient tribe
He sees an altar with a globe
Witness of cults unseen before
Dreams of wealth they'd soon be torn
When he encounters the great dagon

Reaching out to look closer
What does he see in the blackness of the mud?
A figure moving closer, breathing, drewling
Fierce eyes are longing for his blood
He shudders even years later when he closes his eyes

He runs
Black mud becomes water again
He returns home - morphine!
Whishing he had died by the war