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 honour's prime

His mighty flagship strong and brave
Heading for the fight
It puts 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
Desperatly they dare their fate
They feel too much secured
Cannons fire round by round
The smell of acrid smoke
Vibrating full from top to ground
Shacken by its poke

Cannons speak the fatal words
The language of death
Wipes away to 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 englishman 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 scupperholes
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 to 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