Vermin of a Lesser Sextant
It's a grand old boat-still quite reliable.
But from the darkness below.
A crimson-breasted leviathan is clawing holes.
Deep into its starry soul.
She's quickly listing.
Vermin gnawing away at the sextant.
Panic is hastily jumping ship.
With the North Star stuffed in their bindles...
The loyalists are bailing water.
Hope garnished in salt and blistered.
Predators are slowly circling in.
To the sound of a cracked conch shell.
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