In the shadows of our memories, where the twilight gently falls,
I see your face, a fleeting trace, in the echoes of these halls.
You were my starlight, my guiding flame, in the darkness of my night,
Now I'm left with whispers, shadows and a ghostly, fading light.

Elara, can you hear me calling through the rain?
Elara, can you feel the sorrow and the pain?
In the silence, I remember all we shared,
Elara, in my heart, you're still there.

We danced upon the precipice, where the edge met the abyss,
Every touch, a sweet caress, every word, a tender kiss.
But time, it has no mercy, it steals away the dreams,
Now I'm lost in endless searching, through the fragments of our schemes.

The photographs are fading, the letters turning grey,
But the love we had still lingers, it will never slip away.
Though the seasons keep on changing, and the years may come and go,
Elara, in my soul, you'll forever glow.

In the whispers of the night-time, in the dawn's first tender light,
I hear your voice, a haunting song, calling through the night.
Though the world keeps on turning, and new loves come to play,
In the corners of my heart, you'll always stay.

Elara, my eternal, my sweet serenade,
Though you've gone, the love remains, it will never fade.
Elara, in the echoes of our past,
You'll be my first, my only, my last.

The Liner she’s a lady, an’ she never looks nor ’eeds—
The Man-o’-War’s ’er ’usband, an’ ’e gives ’er all she needs;
But, oh, the little cargo-boats, that sail the wet seas roun’,
They’re just the same as you an’ me a-plyin’ up an’ down!

Plyin’ up an’ down, Jenny, ’angin’ round the Yard,
All the way by Fratton tram down to Portsmouth ’Ard;
Anythin’ for business, an’ we’re growin’ old—
Plyin’ up an’ down, Jenny, waitin’ in the cold!

The Liner she’s a lady by the paint upon ’er face,
An’ if she meets an accident they count it sore disgrace:
The Man-o’-War’s ’er ’usband, and ’e’s always ’andy by,
But, oh, the little cargo-boats! they’ve got to load or die.

The Liner she’s a lady, and ’er route is cut an’ dried;
The Man-o’-War’s ’er ’usband, an’ ’e always keeps beside;
But, oh, the little cargo-boats that ’aven’t any man,
They’ve got to do their business first, and make the most they can!

The Liner she’s a lady, and if a war should come,
The Man-o’-War’s ’er ’usband, and ’e’d bid ’er stay at ’ome;
But, oh, the little cargo-boats that fill with every tide!
’E’d ’ave to up an’ fight for them, for they are England’s pride.

The Liner she’s a lady, but if she wasn’t made,
There still would be the cargo-boats for ’ome an’ foreign trade.
The Man-o’-War’s ’er ’usband, but if we wasn’t ’ere,
’E wouldn’t have to fight at all for ’ome an’ friends so dear.

’Ome an’ friends so dear, Jenny, ’angin’ round the Yard,
All the way by Fratton tram down to Portsmouth ’Ard;
Anythin’ for business, an’ we’re growin’ old—
’Ome an’ friends so dear, Jenny, waitin’ in the cold!