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Benn Gunn




Precious alone here I dwell, gently rusting in solitude.
All withered, all quivered, 
 to love you,  if ...   I had half a chance.

 Mine island twould be, could be but paradise.   
 Hey I say! Nay I say!  Its ‘em dead pirates,
 who in mine infernal dreams, search , seek me.

 So, Ben Gunn half a man, became a prophet.
 With rag tag beard,
 talks to himself does he? Does me?
 Fer tis good and mad I be.

 Many many years to sit and stare,
 stare far out to sea.
 Seeking the love of God.
 Fancy I to spy, a sail or snail.

Silver, I hated ‘im, but wish with all mine heart 
a pirate’s heart, all torn black and blue,
the buccaneer was here too.
Oh! T’would be mine friend, like you.

Now tis windy in ‘em hollows
a devil dwells there, wickedness itself.
I’m a feared till morn, fer in mine crusty, rusty dreams,
a one legged man is born.

 When ya mad, ya humble,  and wear a pirate’s hat.
 When ya sad, you’ll stumble,
 watched by the eyes of a large red cat.

 Precious alone here I dwell,  gently rusting in solitude.
 All withered, all quivered.
 to love you,  if ...   I had half a chance.

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