Eastward we swam to ocean blue, daylight beckoning, in chamber next a stone tablet stood in cavern wide.
A writhing worm and mad inscriptions which drew me in, through fog to mother’s cavern beckoning.
Ye gods! A million tiny voices called to me, waters dragging ‘pon my heels as I sought the pool’s embrace.
Into well I stared, filled completely with worm’s love, awoken then by sweet rum washing over me like a wave.
Cursed pool damaged yet not destroyed by quaff of rum, choir singing still we retreated next to pool unseen.
Where ha’dozen graves stood ‘neath stoned cairn, desecrated by our hands a ghost crew rose 10 strong.
Around me crew fled, while ghosts advanced into the deep, Cap’n with pages halted their assault, as we retreated.
Lost in tunnels deep, regrouped in dark of cowardice, where, with speech not quite rousing, Cap’n sent us back into the fray.
Pirate Björk 