And will she be soaring over the sea, With the wind in her sails and a knife in her teeth? At the helm of a ship, on its way to a distant shore, Bermuda or Thailand, an uncharted island, Sandy, we're all getting older What will they do with us, When they are through with us? Sandy, what are we sailing for? Christmas morning, 1993, Presents waiting underneath the tree There's a box for me, a box for me No gift for poor old Sandy to be seen We found Sandy sobbing quietly Uncle Gerald said he liked Christine Mrs Bulgar said she had to leave Three days later, she was gone, The day she turned thirteen