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Forty-Eight that parallel...
above which no man need go.
For there doth dwell the demon...
with his sultry bride from hell.

Water's frozen, sky's a'fire...
sea o'forsaken desire.
Doth sure now lure a'many sailor-lad...
'twixt depths of irk and ire.

So 'twas set black sail aloft...
from deck o'ship so fleet.
As day broke solemn winsome soft...
that devil 'twas I to meet.

Oh... Raven did'st indeed forewarn...
blackest beak did mouth such scorn.
Were I to sail nor'west that morn'...
'twas surely then I'd rue... that day 'twas I e'er born.

So demon did from lofty perch...
look down at me to say...
"Ye've naught to fear but fear itself...
on this your fateful day".

And that devil he did sing that day...
his voice uncommon low.
Of that which he'd then cast for me...
On swiftsure wind did blow.

Oh his tale 'twas a fearsome chant...
O'death and gore such rant...
Whil'st stood me there upon that frozen deck...
My ship a'ghastly forlorn wreck.

His bride with eerie smile...
Did'st stand so by his side...
Casting thus her evil eye...
Upon me far and wide...

Then she too joined that tenebrous awful song...
Now sung by two yet sound o'throng...
Those very decks upon which I stood...
Creaked now groaned they as rotted wood.

Their song took pitch o'fever hot...
As did'st my soul begin to fly...
From mind as body succumbed to rot...
Slowly to that devil's sky...
'Twas known to me in just that glance...
'Twas my day to die.

Nay! Nay! Say I....as my soul begins to flee...
I've such the thought as need be heard...
I'll take not this devil at his softsung malicious word...
Call his sultry bride to silence...
Her song is naught but curse...
And me I've been a'sea... so've lived thru surely worse!

Stay ye now that demon chant so to leave me room for thought!
For that death-knell bell of happenchance...
to me doth mean but naught.

Aye! I'll stand before your ghastly eye...
You that devil and your bride...
And give you reason with which to see...
My soul shall e'er be free!

Nay I'll not... sink to rot,
beneath your hazen fires.
Nor shall I be equal free,
with thoughts of your desire.

'Tis sure of this-that-day which may so be the last...
That your devil's song is truly one of which I am aghast.

As did I speak that devil did...
His sword of brimstone fire...
Ready high to slay me down...
On that deck now come so dire.

Thus did'st I send mine own blade...
Had smiths of old so made...
A'flight that night o'demon chant...
To strike his sullen bride!
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