Of the empty, a cradle sways, tomorrow night (something happens).
A visit to a grave it might be, far from the sea, hailing it is.
In the bored, stream cannot be seen, and an echo of a flute I hear.
Not like that, you the procurer, to snuggle I prefer.
Be hit by a ricochet, having a nose bleed, a dragoon stands. Or, caught in the crossfire, having a nose bleed, a dragoon stands.