And thus we left Arugula isle ‘neath command of Cap’n Trench,
The Commander of the Storm’s Eye refurbished ‘pon Oliver’s bench,
Her ask that we should sail with her and to Van Houten battle go,
From burning remains of Koslev Estate, our legend sure to grow.
It was not long we’d sailed that morn ’til we came ‘pon their damned frigate,
Scaggs had kept our rigging tight and Motten Mick had cannons set,
We sailed ‘pon them low and fast, the initiative was ours,
A southern wind did fill our sails, “Yxa plus en kan kastas” cried.
Their ship now hove in view, a Goliath come borne upon the waves,
Fuses prepped with torches lit, each gun port manned by our ship’s knaves,
A deafening salvo of shots rang out, soon answered back in kind,
A ‘Heave Ho’ called to find their aft, veering from guns beneath their decks.
“We’re in for stormy weather, boys”, Cap’n called, as hull was struck,
Artillery broke o’er water, testament to our crew’s pluck.
For the ball and shot on their starboard, our hopes began to grow,
Lest we face our wretched fates that day, in the darkness down below.
Well it’s now our ship’s luck is all spent, we may go to sea again,
When Van Houten comes ‘pon our port, guns aimed unto our men,
A crimson tide upon their decks, following small arms misfire,
Finally set within their wake, awaiting help from sons of Thor.
Canvas torn, becoming bilged, spirits limping far from land,
We sailed away like Enya song, green mist granting us a last stand,
But I wish we had joined the viking crew and followed them on deck,
“Bork, bork, bork” and “hurdy-gurdy”, they really gave them… hell.
So it’s fare thee well, old Rapture and the captain we abhor,
We’ll sail southeast and lick our wounds, upon the Corpsewake shore,
Where whiskey and bad company shall make a wretch of me,
Oh young men, a warning by me take and embrace piracy.
Pirate Björk 