We are the last of the ships survivors
Fresh from the starving shores of the cannibal gods
Locked in shrunken heads of superstitions
Entrails spread along the jungle floor

The ships supplies were low on food and water
The priest, he wants to save their heathen souls
To a man we all partook of rumors
Lost cities full of idols made of gold

In the blood red moon of 1694

Half the crew was set to task
To gather food and fill our casks
I see them in my fetid dreams
I smell the blood and hear their screams
Headless bodies hung from trees
Beyond the beaches rockey scree

In the blood red moon of 1694

Blood lust darkened both my eyes
Death would come as no suprise
Revenge can be the sweetest meat
with musket ball and cold hard steel

In the blood red moon of 1694