A tale of a captain steering his ship into the rocks of the sirens. |
“Sincerity is the cast of all marked ships and tethered masts in Abel moorings.” [They drink] What wretched drafts neat Navy spill And christen throats most acrid gasps. For fortunes vestal harbingers seek Only those who dote and clasp At the immaculate, The clamorous webbed scavengers Of Seraphic black saturate. Through bending boughs decks down beneath The widowed shells of spirits toast. The carapace white rums bequeath Left rolling, sea made motions host. And heralded on mist mornings air, The Sun’s most sultry gentlemen. The crying white winged cadency Alive on crested white Le Mer. With Technologies in earnest proof We subjugate our bearings North Through lapped and effete skeletons, The vestige tones of latent wharf. Up through merry Hinterlands, Past points of compass wrath, Where a singing tenebrosity Floats terribly across our path. And unbeknownst to all my crew I’m sailing them to widowed wives. The delphian sweet harmonies Were nether high from sea bird cries But from the jaws of Seraphin, Which devastate me deep within. It’s more than a man’s heart can take To hear such Godly music wake. So sail on, north bound to Sirenum, To a fortune most malaise, To wickedness and malady To rhapsody in perfect phrase. |