| From the lackluster sand we laid down our hands
|
| And took up our powder and shot
|
| Time after time, overt crime after crime
|
| These heinous acts, they shan’t be forgot
|
| We clad in the dress of the old pirate’s best
|
| And offered a rare sort of song
|
| Thrashing and slashing as waves keep on crashing
|
| This is where we belong
|
| They’ll put the rope around our necks
|
| And remove the floor from out of the deck
|
| Thirteen wraps 'round the rope
|
| The loop that hangs at the end of hope
|
| Drops of ideal pain begin to take flight
|
| And dance across the sky on this very night
|
| Torch the sky aflame as it burns so bright
|
| Robust and hearty, dancing light
|
| Hard-wired for what, in the end, might be right
|
| Perverse, rotten, wicked, trite
|
| Nightmarish sense and patterned thought
|
| Cashed in on what was never taught
|
| Drenched in the sailing sun’s most warming rays
|
| This silent desperation stays
|
| Affixed to that which carries through
|
| Across the never-ending sea of blue
|
| We live our act’s self-sacrifice
|
| Time again, we have paid the price
|
| This piratical presence will be felt
|
| And repercussions shall be dealt
|
| From the freedom of that fleeting moment springs
|
| The valor and the grandeur of the ages
|
| From the wisdom gained in that prophetic instance
|
| Churns the makings of the learned sages |